


One Step at a Time

by JosieMarieVivianWilkins



Series: Institutionalisation [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal, Anal Sex, Angst, BPD, Borderline Personality Disorder, Development, Engagement, F/M, Flash Forward, Future, Growth, Hand Jobs, Independence, M/M, Oral Sex, Parents, Pregnancy, Self-Harm, Sequel, Smut, Triggers, appreciation, asking for help, bi ian, bipolar, fiance, house move, husband, institutionalisation, learning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24656203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosieMarieVivianWilkins/pseuds/JosieMarieVivianWilkins
Summary: The final instalment of the Institutionalisation series, One Step at a Time looks at Ian and Mickey's future and how they build a life for themselves, overcoming obstacles and growing more as individuals and as a couple.COMPLETE SERIES
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher & Sean, Fiona Gallagher/Sean, Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Mandy Milkovich, Lip Gallagher/Mandy Milkovich
Series: Institutionalisation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597315
Comments: 25
Kudos: 34





	1. Step One: Asking For Help

**Author's Note:**

> So, here we are, the final instalment. This is a different format to the previous two instalments, which chapters ranging between roughly 7.5-9.3k words, so a lot longer and a lot more content. As per, trigger warnings will be noted in the endnotes, so check for those if you need them and let me know if I miss anything.
> 
> This first one is a little rough, like growing pains, but then it's pretty much uphill from there so, sorry I guess? Like, I cried proofing some of this one in the beginning.
> 
> The feedback I got for the previous two parts was awesome, and a lot of people seemed eager to know what came in this part so I decided to try and get it proofed and uploaded ASAP.
> 
> As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.

Becoming a paramedic was fucking hard. The studying was a part of it, Ian guessed, especially because it had been hard to see Mickey as much with the increased homework, the longer school days, and working at the same time. But more so it was having to fight to be able to do it. People had told Ian from the off that he wouldn’t be able to manage it, that his Bipolar would flare up, that he would have to choose between his relationship and his career: that he just wouldn’t be able to fucking do it.

And, of course, Ian Gallagher was a stubborn shit. The Gallaghers were made of tougher stuff; they were the cockroaches, scraping the bottom of the barrel to survive when nobody thought they would. He should have died when he jumped from that window, should have died when he sliced his arms open in hospital, should have died when that homophobe attacked him and left him for died in the streets of Chicago, should have died when Tyler attacked him – but he didn’t. And that was enough to spur Ian on in life; he wasn’t a cat, so figured that four spare lives – more than in a videogame – was probably all he would get, so he made this last one count.

He truly didn’t understand how he was managing to do so well in life, though.

Realistically, he would have failed in obtaining his E.M.T. B when he was suffering a depressive episode that put him thirty training hours behind if Mickey had not convinced him to approach the course leader and explain the situation. The older gentleman had commended his honesty and dedication, arranging for him to make up the additional hours out of class.

And then there was an episode of mania during spring break where Ian had awoken drunk and high, unsure of where he was and with no knowledge of what had happened, and Mickey had simply driven to pick him up. No questions asked, his fiancé had worked to get him cleaned up, sober, and then get him to a clinic to get tested and have his medications adjusted (he had been discharged from external therapy during his senior year, assured that he had learnt – and regularly used – coping mechanisms and methods to keep his disorder in check). Ian had been lucky to come out clean, but even luckier to have not lost the man of his dreams.

_“It was a girl, Ian,” Mickey had mumbled when the younger man had finally levelled out. “Am I not enough?”_

_“You’re_ more _than enough!” He had insisted, taking the older man’s hand in his own._

_Snatching his hand back, Mickey had snapped, “Then why’d ya’ have to go out and get so fucked up you couldn’t even remember who I was when I got you?”_

_His heart sank, making him feel sick with guilt. “Monica died.”_

_Mickey’s face dropped. “You didn’t say nothin’…”_

_“I didn’t know what to think about it. I mean, she’s like my future, like a reminder that I’m a ticking time bomb. It just… flipped shit…”_

_“That why you were drinkin’ more before it happened?”_

_A soft nod was all Ian could manage for a moment, his chest tight with the memory. “Yeah. I found out the week before, was just trying to drink through it. I put the buzz down to the booze, not mania.”_

_“It’s understandable, but…”_

_“Freud.” It clicked in his head when he said everything out loud. The height his fiancé’s brows had raised was almost comical, as though Ian had spoken a foreign language and expected him to understand it. “It’s why it was a chick. Umm… I think it was a case of, like, trying to replicate my mom’s love.”_

_Mickey had nodded softly, the topic ending there. The truth was that Mickey would always think back to their conversation in the hospital when Ian’s mania became difficult (which, he would give the younger man his dues, wasn’t very often, but it was hard when it happened)._

“But… what if it happens again? I don’t think I could deal with that,” Mickey explained, his brow weighed down with worry.

“If I can get myself better, that won’t happen. So long as I’m healthy, I’ll never sleep with anyone else. I can promise to… completely give myself to you… if you can just believe me when I tell you that I’m all in and I’m going to try my hardest to be a worthy boyfriend for you.”

_What Ian did wasn’t out of spite or malice – it wasn’t because he was a bad person – it was because of the disease that plagued that brilliant brain of his. And Mickey had to remind himself of that when times got tough._

With the luck of the Irish (the one good thing he had gotten from the Gallagher genes), Ian had managed to pass his classes and exams to become a paramedic, and, even more so, he had managed to obtain an interview and be offered a job with a publicly-owned ambulance service. He had heard horror stories during his training about how privately-owned companies would have you over-treat a person for profit, regardless of whether that person truly needed the treatment or could even afford it. So, getting an offer at a local public service had been such a relief for him, and now being signed off of his probationary period was like a weight being lifted from his shoulders.

Going home that day, the world felt like it was at the perfect distance from the sun, with the perfect gravitational pull, and the perfect atmospheric composition. Ian felt on top of said perfect world, like nothing could bring him down.

But, in true Gallagher style, something did.

It was his fiancé on the floor of their crappy apartment, sat against the refrigerator with tear-stained cheeks and bloody arms, their pairing knife in his hand. When Ian walked through the door and crouched down beside him, taking the knife from his hand to blindly put it on the worktop, the vacant blue eyes never moved, not once looking towards him. For a moment, the worst crossed Ian’s mind, but then the seated man let out a shaky sob.

“Mickey. Mickey, look at me,” Ian’s words shook more than his hands which scrambled about for the dishcloth to grip it tightly around his forearms. “Come on, Mick, talk to me.” As much as he wanted to panic because it was Mickey and a shitty situation, Ian put on his paramedic head, assessing the situation. “When? How long ago?”

Shrugging softly, Mickey was still silent.

“Come on, Mickey, I need you to help me to help you. Think. Five minutes? Ten?”

Finally, the dark-haired man met his eyes. “Ten maybe…”

Ian nodded, looking to see how much blood had soaked into the dishcloth to try and gauge the extent of the cuts. They weren’t gushing. That was good. But they were still bleeding steadily. And the amount of blood on the floor wasn’t enough to need urgent medical care beyond anything that Ian couldn’t do himself. “It’s okay, we can fix it.” Standing, Mickey followed the prompt and rose with him, Ian keeping his grip on Mickey’s arms as they shuffled towards the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, his first-aid kit out, Ian was all business, working on patching Mickey’s arms up before he went in on emotion. That would be way more difficult.

Over the past few years, Mickey had been struggling with passive suicidal thoughts. The thoughts were invasive and not always linear with his mood. Sometimes they would become too much and he would bottle things away for long enough that he would hurt himself, other times falling into an immovable depression, which _generally_ never lasted more than the day. It was hard, but they managed it between them.

Deep down, however, both of them knew the cause behind it: Mickey’s fear of abandonment was the ultimate root of the emotional disturbance. Between the late nights studying, long days in class, and working, they had struggled to see each other as much; Mickey had worked overtime at Hank’s during the younger man’s studies to cover what his paycheck and financial aid hadn’t. But they were past that now. Mickey’s hours had gone down to normal as soon as Ian had received his first wage from his paramedic gig, and Ian’s rota was stuck to the fridge so that Mickey knew when to expect his partner.

“I’m tired of it.” The bandaged man’s voice was small and exhausted.

But… maybe the damage had already been done.

“Mick, you can do this shit, you’re the strongest person I know.” He brushed away the silent tears from his cheeks.

“It doesn’t stop. The thoughts, the anxiety; they’re always there, always weighin’ down. It makes me not wanna’ wake up to have to deal with it all over again.”

Ian’s heart felt heavy as he stared into the tearful blue eyes. “I think, then, maybe… maybe it’s time to get some proper help.”

“We can’t afford it,”

Shaking his head in disagreement, Ian explained, “I got signed off of my probation today, which means all my benefits kick in. I get healthcare, remember? And… you’re covered on it too, so...” He didn’t say any more, waiting for his fiancé to make the decision that sat in the air between them.

The tearful eyes were doe-like and full of fear as the brunet mumbled, “I don’t wanna’ leave ya’.”

“Then don’t. Go and get help so you can come back out and not have to worry about leaving me ever again.” Gripping Mickey’s hands, Ian said softly, “I’m scared that one day it might get worse, like it did in the hospital, and you might not realise what you’re doing. I worry that I might not come home to my fiancé, but to a corpse instead.” He was openly crying himself as he admitted, “I want to actually make you my husband, and I can’t do that if you’re not here.”

“I… okay. But… one more day. Please? I just need you tonight and then… I’ll get it, the help.”

“Okay.” Luckily, he was on a late shift tomorrow, so it would be doable to drive Mickey down without seeming like he had just waited until he had been signed off at work to start taking the piss.

Walking back into a mental hospital after five years felt just as difficult as when he had been admitted against his will. Maybe it was because they were both walking in there voluntarily but that only Ian would walk out. It felt like such regression after how hard they had worked at sixteen and eighteen years old. It seemed as though their time out had only been because of a band-aid which had gotten wet too many times and given up the ghost.

“I’m so proud of you,” Ian mumbled as Mickey sat beside him, filling out paperwork and bouncing his foot anxiously.

The older man grunted weakly as his brow furrowed at the sheets before him. “I don’t… know about the insurance stuff, can you…?”

“Of course.” Accepting the clipboard from his shaking hands, the ginger man quickly pulled out the reference material from his sign-off that he had made sure to bring with them.

And that was all of the conversation between the pair as Ian finished off the remaining forms, regarding Mickey’s stiff form from the corner of his eye every so often. Finishing the forms meant handing them in at the desk, and then soon that would mean saying goodbye to Mickey for an indefinite amount of time, something neither of them was eager to do. When Ian was done, he rested the clipboard on his thigh, slowly checking through all of the sheets as he silently placed a hand on his fiancé’s, lacing their fingers together.

“You done?” Mickey’s soft words shocked Ian for some reason, making him jump fractionally. The dark-haired man looked at him with unhappy eyes.

“I’m stalling,” Ian confessed, “checking you didn’t make any mistakes.”

His lips twitched slightly with a muted laugh. “I checked too. For the same reason.” When Ian offered a sad smile, the shorter of the two admitted, “I don’t wanna’ go.” He must have noticed that Ian went to speak because he continued, “I need to – I know that – and I’m gonna’… I just don’t wanna’.”

“I was only going to say that I’d support you whatever you decided. I just want what’s best for you, and being made to do things you don’t want to isn’t that.”

“I love you.” A small sniff and a pinch at the bridge of his nose was all Mickey could manage for a moment. “Come on, gotta’ go at some point,” he sighed, taking the clipboard and paperwork from Ian and standing slowly.

“You too, Mick. So much.” When Ian joined him in standing, Mickey began a sluggish shuffle towards the plump woman behind the desk. She checked the forms over before smiling and saying that they would be met shortly and that they should say their goodbyes.

They were briefly awkward, looking back and forth between themselves with glassy eyes and drooping lips. Ian was cautious, not wanting to incite any further sadness in the older man, deciding to wait for his actions. When Mickey all but threw himself at the taller man, Ian’s stomach twisted painfully, tears brimming on his lashes as he returned the tight embrace.

“I love ya’, man,” Mickey murmured as he leant back enough to look into Ian’s eyes, wiping away the few tears that had slipped loose with the pad of his thumb before crashing their lips together.

The kiss was full of desperation and love, trying to get enough of the other to tide them over until Mickey was home. It was an intense kiss in that there was so much emotion and power behind it, but it was simple in that there were no tongues, just lips that tasted of salty tears.

When they eventually separated, Ian squeezed the broad shoulders that would be leaving him, blinking back tears as he uttered, “Just come back to me.”

Neither of the men said goodbye, instead focusing on wiping away tears. As Mickey walked away, looking back over his shoulder at Ian, the younger man watched his disappearing form being escorted down a long corridor before turning a corridor and disappearing from sight.

It wasn’t a goodbye, nowhere near as final as one, but more of a ‘see you later, alligator’ that held a whole lot of emotion.

Both of them were aware that to a degree they were co-dependent, having been together for so long and in one another’s presence regularly that being apart felt alien, almost impossible. But they would do it because neither wanted to lose the man they loved and wanted to marry.

*** * ***

Going back to the apartment after work (Ian couldn’t even remember a single incident he had attended during the ten-hour shift) and knowing that he was putting the chain on the door even though Mickey wasn’t home for the night felt wrong. Seeing Mickey’s toothbrush still dry by the sink, his side of the bed untouched, and not being able to smell the musky scent that was just _him_ in the bedroom; it all gripped at Ian’s insides, tightening painfully to the point that he simply crumpled to the floor at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving with tears.

When Mandy picked up the phone to a blubbering Ian, she had initially begun yelling about why he was calling her at almost midnight but had stopped at the shaking breaths on the other end of the line.

“Ian? What is it?” Her voice on speakerphone was full of concern.

“Mickey… struggling… hospital… miss him…” Ian panted out between sobs, his quivering hands dropping the phone to the floor.

“What?”

He wished he could be clear and concise with her, but the pain in his chest and the throbbing behind his eyes made it all too difficult to do. “Gone… don’t know…”

“Ian, are you having a panic attack?” Trying and failing to reach the peak of his inhale, he nodded his head as he hummed out an ‘mhmm’. “We’ll be there in ten. Just… keep talking to me.” He could hear shuffling and his brother grunting in the background, obviously being woken up by his girlfriend.

The couple were true to their word, with them arriving after ten minutes of Mandy trying to talk Ian through breathing exercises and visualisation. They didn’t _not_ help, but they didn’t do wonders either. Letting themselves in with the spare key, they were calling out to Ian as their voices neared him, checking each room until they found him.

“Hey, come here.” Mandy hugged his shaking form, stroking a hand through his hair as he struggled to catch his breath. “You need to slow down before we can work this out, okay? Otherwise, you’re gonna’ get so worked up that you pass out or puke – and this is my favourite coat, you know how long I begged Lip for it!”

A broken laugh pressed through his hyperventilating.

The newly-blonde woman soon adjusted herself to sit in front of him, her hands on his cheeks to force him to maintain eye contact. “We’re gonna’ breathe together. Lip’s gonna’ be behind you. We’re just gonna’ breathe nice and deep, okay?” If he had been well, he would have noticed the panic and worry in her tone, obviously having received no definitive answer of what was going on with her absent brother.

He nodded blindly, blinking through tears. Lip’s firm form kneeling behind him felt claustrophobic at first. Still, he tried to focus on taking the long breaths with both of them, holding them for two before exhaling slowly. It became easier when he could feel his brother’s chest moving with the breaths, helping him to try and synchronise with them.

After a good seven minutes of breathing, Ian was exhausted and leaning back into his brother, revelling in the strong hold and reassurances of “I’ve got you, man,” and “You’re doing great.” It wasn’t the same as having his fiancé helping him through (the time it took to calm him a display of that), but he appreciated the help and support nonetheless.

“Come on, let’s get you up.” Mandy extended a manicured hand to him, helping him to his feet before she said, “I’m gonna’ go and make coffees. Go wash your face and get in some pyjamas, you’ll feel better.”

Up until this point, he hadn’t even realised that he was still in his uniform. He nodded mutely, shuffling past the shorter man to retrieve some pyjama pants and a tank top from the dresser and traipsing to the bathroom. The cool water that he splashed on his face was refreshing and helped to regulate his temperature as he stood naked in the bathroom, simply staring at his broken reflection. He hadn’t had a panic attack for a while, long enough that he couldn’t think when it was off the top of his head. But then again, he had had Mickey, and their life had been quite consistent in that they would always end the day together, regardless of what time Ian’s studying or shift would finish.

“Yo, Ian, you okay?” Lip’s voice was accompanied by a knocking on the bathroom door.

“Yeah, won’t be a minute.” As he dressed, he caught sight of his pills on the counter and dispensed the correct doses before he forgot (as he almost had earlier when heading for bed) and took them with a mouthful of water from the faucet. Whilst he knew they wouldn’t say it directly to his face, he couldn’t risk Lip and Mandy think that he had acted as he had because he was an hour late taking his medication.

“So, what were you on about Mickey?” Mandy asked once Ian had sat down on the armchair and taken a few sips of his coffee. “Is he okay?”

“Umm,” Ian stared into his drink, “he’s been struggling for a while. I think it’s partly with when I was studying and working all the time, and then the extra hours he was working. He was hurting himself,” Mandy’s wide eyes made Ian feel like a traitor for not involving her sooner, “but it wasn’t as bad or as often as when we were younger, and we were managing it.” He took a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “But last night I came back and he was in the kitchen. And he’d cut. And he was just sitting on the floor, not moving. Once I’d stitched him up, we spoke, and he told me about having a lot of passive suicidal thoughts and how they were invasive and that sometimes he just didn’t wanna’ wake up to have to deal with all the shit in his head.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Twisting his fingers through the handle of his mug, Ian responded, “Like I said, we were handling it; he didn’t want to tell you.”

“Ian, if he was still hurting himself then you weren’t handling it.” The slim woman’s voice was firm, her lips pulled tight.

“Mandy, we were doing our best. It was never that bad. And we both had shit going on. And we couldn’t afford in-patient anyway.” He jutted his chin out, his nostrils flaring with the deep breaths he was taking. “Besides, you weren’t exactly around to notice that something was wrong.”

Angry tears brimmed the familiar blue Milkovich eyes. “That was fucking low, you asshole. I was grieving your stillborn fucking nephew!”

“Guys…” Lip’s attempt at interjecting was futile.

Lunging up from his chair, Ian’s half-drunk mug of coffee was flying out of his hand as his arms went up in the air, smashing by the front door and forming a brown puddle on the carpet. “And I was trying my fucking best! I patched him up, I sat with him through the rough nights, I looked after him when he couldn’t do it himself – I looked after him when I could barely look _my_ self!” His chest rose and fell rapidly as he shook with anger.

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t gone out and fucked randoms!”

The air was thick with tension. Ian felt sick as he stared at the red-faced woman, unable to speak.

The brunet man was shooting daggers at his girlfriend. And when she opened her mouth to continue, Lip was loud and commanding. “Shut the fuck up, Mandy!”

“No, she’s right.” Ian spat, not looking at his brother. “Kind of. It was once. I was manic. And I pay for it every fucking day. But he was struggling before then.”

“Well, it didn’t fucking help, did it?”

“Well, neither did you, Mandy! Neither did you!” His skin was probably the same colour as his hair with how much it felt like his blood was boiling. Nevertheless, his voice softened a fraction as he noticed Mandy’s lip quiver. “He wouldn’t even entertain telling you because he knew you were in a bad place. Every time I said about speaking to you he said that he wasn’t going to and that if I did he wouldn’t forgive me.” Ian was then walking away to grab a dishcloth and attempt to clean the coffee before it stained the neutral carpet, moving the three chunks of porcelain aside.

“I could’ve fucking handled it…” The blonde mumbled, turning to follow him with her tearful eyes.

“He didn’t want you to have to,” Ian sighed, “he wanted you to focus on you.” As he worked at soaking up the coffee, scrubbing at the floor aggressively, he felt his shoulders sag with guilt. “I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t risking losing him. And… that’s what I told him last night, that I didn’t want to lose him. My probation got signed off today, so my benefits kicked in. We checked him in before my shift started today.”

“Is that why you were freaking out earlier?” Lip asked, walking into the kitchen to hunt out some anti-bacterial spray and a fresh dishcloth to help his brother.

Ian nodded and sat back as Lip took over. “We’ve never not gone to bed together in I don’t know how long. And… now I don’t know how long it’ll be until we do it again.”

“Mick’s a fighter, it won’t be long,” Mandy assured him, now standing above him. She crouched down to sit beside him, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she breathed into his shoulder as she wrapped his long arms around his.

“Me too.”

“Come stay at the house until he’s back,” Mandy insisted as she pulled back. “It might be easier not coming back to an empty apartment, having a little company. Besides, you know your brother can’t cook for shit, and I’d like to enjoy a meal that I didn’t cook every once in a while.” She grinned, her tongue poking through her teeth slightly.

“That’s what take-out is for!” Lip put in, looking up from the almost-clean carpet with a lopsided smile.

*** * ***

Staying back in the Milkovich home still felt a little strange (if only because Ian had never slept there without Mickey), but Mandy had been right about the company helping. It was also nice to be closer to his old North Wallace home for a small spell, meaning that even if Lip and Mandy were… preoccupied, he could walk a couple of blocks and be at his old North Wallace home.

Fiona had been the comfort that he had craved in Mickey’s absence, her hugs feeling more like home than Lip or Mandy’s (but not as at home as Mickey’s did). Spending time with his baby niece was definitely a good distraction too. Fiona and Sean had gotten back together not long after Ian had returned to school, and now the pair lived in the Gallagher home with an eight-year-old Liam and their own baby (Hayley was a playful two-year-old with a mouth that went a-mile-a-minute), with Carl and Debbie sometimes returning if they separated from their significant others at the time.

When his phone trilled from in his pocket, signalling a text had arrived, Ian stood up immediately, calling to Fiona in the kitchen “I’m going now, Fi. Thanks!”

“Any time, sweet-face. Say hi to Mickey!” She poked her head around the corner to send him a sympathetic smile, offering a flour-covered wave to his retreating form.

The drive to the hospital was quiet, with Ian sat in the back of the car willing them to be there sooner with every minute he was strapped in. Lip and Mandy spoke occasionally, and if not the soft hum of the radio covered his silence. When they finally arrived and had to queue to sign in and get glaring ‘VISITOR’ badges from the desk, Ian was constantly tapping his foot and looking around in hopes of catching a glimpse of his fiancé sooner. And Ian was ultimately the same right up until Mickey was in his arms, his earthy smell and firm body overwhelming his senses.

“Jesus, Mickey, I really fucking missed you,” Ian sighed into the older man’s neck, not wanting to let go of him.

Not caring that his sister and her boyfriend were sat a short distance away, Mickey locked his lips with Ian and kissed him until neither of them could properly breathe. “Longest week ever,” he observed when they had separated.

“Yeah, me too.”

They made their way to sit down by the other two familiar faces in the building, with Mickey being pulled into a tight hug by his sister. When she finally released him, she punched his bicep hard, scowling at him. “You fucking shithead! I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me!”

“There wasn’t nothin’ to tell,” Mickey lied, quickly dodging any further attacks from his big sister to sit beside his fiancé. Mandy didn’t argue, simply offering her brother a middle finger before sitting beside Lip.

“So, how are you feeling?” Ian asked, a hand resting on the shorter man’s thigh softly.

“Umm, yeah… okay, I guess.” The patient mumbled, lacing his fingers through Ian’s long ones. “They, umm, they upped my anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills and got me in some intense therapy. Upside is that this place also has art therapy.” He offered a half-smile as Ian quirked an eyebrow in question, asking when Mickey had ever cared about art. The pair didn’t need words to communicate the question, and the dark-haired man simply explained, “They said I got some real Freud shit goin’ on when I made my clay into a dick – I said I just missed my fiancé’s dick and was tryin’ to make a substitute!”

All three visitors were in hysterics, knowing how true to character that was for Mickey. With a medication increase, it was nice to see Mickey still able to laugh and enjoy himself, clearly handling the dosage change well. Previous experience of this had seen Mickey and Ian both up and down whenever their pills were altered, so Ian took this to be a good indication.

“I take it they didn’t let you keep your makeshift dildo?” Ian grinned, squeezing Mickey’s hand.

“Contraband. Could be used as a weapon. I tried to tell them that the only damage it would do was to my ass, but they said no.” The shorter man pouted playfully.

“Savages. Don’t they know your ass is used to a regular seeing-to?” Ian and Mickey were in their own world, not noticing the faces that Mandy and Lip were making in response to the nature of their conversation.

“I know!” The pair were silent for a moment before Mickey was saying loudly “What’s that, Ian? You got some real bad diarrhoea? Let me show you to the bathroom,” his lips quirking up at the corners.

To say that fucking in the bathroom of a mental hospital was nostalgic for both men was like saying that the pope was Catholic. Their relationship had basically begun in bathrooms, showers, and locker rooms, and here they were trying to get away with a quickie that each of them wanted to be a longie, to last forever. Nevertheless, both men were realistic, knowing that visiting hours were limited, and were hasty in finishing – loudly – and quickly cleaning up before returning to their siblings.

“You guys are gross,” Mandy had sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Says the girl with sex on tap,” Lip pointed out, knocking his shoulder against hers.

Grinning widely, Mickey laughed, “Knew there was a reason I let you date this ass!”

*** * ***

The remaining three weeks that Mickey spent in the hospital were tough, but they were made easier by the bi-daily calls and weekly visits. It was the gruelling repetition that Ian had to attempt to maintain in order to not poke the monster that was his Bipolar; wake up, work, eat, see Fiona and company whilst Lip and Mandy had sex, return to the Milkovich home to sleep and begin the cycle again. His days off work were long. Normally, he and Mickey would try to make the most of the days off, even if it was just a case of slouching on the couch and playing Xbox all day or bingeing Netflix; they spent them being together, making up for when their shift patterns were mismatched.

After a lot of back-and-forth between himself and Mandy, Ian finally won the argument for going to collect Mickey on his own, saying that they just needed their own space for the day and that they could come to the apartment the next day. He had booked a couple of days holiday from work to fall with his rota that allowed him five days off to help Mickey reacclimate, so he was looking forward to being able to make up for lost time. And not even sex (though he was sure that neither of them would refuse it), but just being in one another’s presence, in a proximity close enough that allowed them to feel each other’s warmth without even touching.

Unlike his first – but much like his previous four visits – Ian stood at the reception desk impatiently, wondering how long it really took to write a name and give out a god-damned badge!

“I’m here to collect Mikhailo Milkovich,” he blurted when he was finally at the desk, tapping his fingers on the edge of the wood anxiously, his words short and sharp. “Thanks,” he tacked on the end in an attempt to not seem like a total douche.

“Great, if you could just fill out a couple forms and show some I.D. and then I’ll have someone bring him down to you,” The curly-haired brunette asked, clipping a handful of sheets to a plastic clipboard and popping a pen on top before sliding them to Ian. “Thank you.”

Filling the forms out as quickly as possible meant that Ian had sacrificed a good seventy percent of the legibility of his handwriting, just eager to get the information down and be done with it, to have Mickey back in his arms. Biting his lip in hopes that the kindly woman would not ask him to do it all over again, Ian handed her the forms and fished his driver’s licence out of his wallet, popping it on the desk for her.

It felt like a lifetime before she finished sorting through the paperwork and scanned a copy of his licence, handing it back and saying “Okay, I’ll have someone bring him down. Shouldn’t be five minutes if you want to take a seat again.” She smiled warmly.

After picking his nail beds to oblivion, with the finger that homed his engagement ring weeping a little blood, Mickey was in front of him and smiling bashfully, wearing the clothes that he had been when they had checked him in. When their eyes met it was like sparks were chasing up either man’s spine, getting hotter and more persistent, urging them forwards until they were in each other’s arms.

“I missed you, and I’d willingly fuck you right here,” Mickey began when they pulled back from their hug to look at one another, “but let’s get the fuck out of here and work on reacquaintin’ the apartment furniture with my ass.”

The furniture had to wait, with the couple stopping along the way home for a quickie in the back seat before heading through a McDonald’s drive-thru (“ _Ian, oh my God, I need burgers and fries and a fat shake more than sex right now – stop at McDonald’s!_ ”) and stuffing their faces in the parking lot.

Getting back into the apartment, Ian kicked himself for not coming back the day before to set the heating on a timer to fight the cold November air that had let a chill chase its way through their home. When Ian grumbled about this, heading to the thermostat to begin the warming process, Mickey simply shrugged, a glint in his eye, and said, “Well, we’ll just have to keep warm until the heating pulls its finger out.”

“Sounds like a great plan,” the taller man grinned, his eyes already undressing Mickey as he moved towards him, like a predator drinking in its prey in its natural surroundings. Sliding his hands up Mickey’s cheeks and round to cradle his head, Ian crashed his lips to his fiancé’s, feeling the older man instantly begin to probe his mouth, tasting the hot want and lust that overpowered any fast-food flavours lingering nearby.

“Why are we not in bed?” Mickey panted when the pair finally separated, a grin pulling at either corner of his mouth as he bit his bottom lip. And then, as Ian was pulling him close and lifting him on the walk towards the bedroom, the shorter man began to work on the other’s neck, licking sucking, and biting at every inch of skin that he could reach, spurring the long legs to quicken their pace to the bedroom. They didn’t go to the bed, though, with Ian instead pressing Mickey’s back against the wood of the door, hearing it click shut with the pressure. “So much more fun than a bed,” Mickey murmured as his head fell back with a soft _thud_ , allowing Ian access to that sweet spot on his neck.

“Off,” Ian grunted, biting at the neck of his fiancé’s grey t-shirt and tugging lightly, “get it off now!” He pulled back, allowing Mickey to remove the offending item, grinding his hips eagerly against the older man’s groin, licking his lips at how delicious the friction felt.

“Damn, Ian,” Mickey sighed when the ginger man tugged at his nipple sharply before lapping his tongue over the nub, soothing the injured area before assaulting it with his teeth again.

The noises Mickey made as Ian worked between teasing his nipples and sucking on his collar bone had him painfully hard. It had been a month since they had been able to just indulge in foreplay, their quickies in the bathroom only requiring a quick finger for lubrication (after the first visit, Mickey had gotten expectant, opening himself before his visitors would arrive).

“Man, you’re fuckin’ killin’ me…” Grasping at ginger locks, Mickey beelined for the other man’s lips, instantly making the kiss all teeth, tongue, and gasping, hot breaths. Eyes glazed, Mickey demanded, “Let me down, I wanna’ eat your ass!”

Wasting no time, Ian placed his fiancé on the bed roughly and then proceeded to undress slowly before him, making an effort to be so slow in sliding his jeans over his erection. He felt smug as Mickey all but salivated, his eyes never leaving Ian’s body as he palmed himself through his boxers, his jeans shoved down for access.

“You’d make a good stripper with moves like that,” Mickey commented, biting his lip. Shuffling down to where Ian stood at the foot of the bed, the Milkovich man quickly removed his jeans when his legs hung over the edge of the bed, his face level with Ian’s crotch.

Tucking a hand into his boxers and emphasising the movements of his hand up and down his cock, Ian simply sighed “Maybe in another life,” as he let his head hang back.

“Cut it out. That’s my job.” And then Mickey was pulling down the black boxer-briefs, his eyes wide as Ian’s cock sprang free, and taking a teasing suck on the head, revelling in the groan that Ian let out. “Now, on your back,” he commanded, reaching around to slap Ian’s behind for emphasis, standing up himself. As his fiancé laid back on their bed, resting his head on the pillows, Mickey felt his heart skip a little with excitement and anticipation.

“Kinky…” Ian drawled as the first set of handcuffs clicked shut around his left wrist, attaching him to their metal bed frame. Straddling the freckled chest, Mickey leant into his fiancé as he reached to cuff his right wrist, feeling the man beneath him lean forwards to press his tongue flatly against the boxer-clad erection that sat before his face, as though asking for Ian to just suck it there and then.

“You want it?”

Raising a brow at the stupid question, he simply licked his lips before pressing his tongue firmly against the beautiful cock, pointedly breathing hot and heavy through the fabric as he could feel the older man twitching.

It was crazy how, even as he was restrained, he felt like he held all of the power in this scenario; seeing the want in Mickey in the way his brows furrowed and pulled up in the centre, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes wide, lustful, and looking at Ian as though he controlled the very rotation of the Earth with his pinkie finger.

It was probably a good moment of intense eye contact before Ian cleared his throat, brushing his nose against the wet patch of Mickey’s boxers, pulling him from his thoughts: “Uh, yeah.” The dark-haired man moved to quickly dispose of his boxers, returning to his previous position, allowing Ian to sloppily take his cock into his mouth.

Feeling the cuffs rub against his skin as he strained to take as much of the other man’s length in, Ian revelled in the sensations of the moment. They hadn’t done any bondage for longer than Ian cared to think about; it always felt like the ultimate demonstration of trust, being so vulnerable and unable to get away but not having the desire to do so. Sex was where both men wanted to be open and on display to one another in every possible way, to give themselves wholly to the man they wanted to spend the rest of their life with.

The sound of metal on metal as Ian naturally reached to grip at Mickey’s hips clanged through the bedroom, cutting through their breathy moans and pants. It seemed to shock Mickey from his indulgence, setting him back on his initial path. “Sneaky fucker,” he mumbled as he shuffled back on his knees, pulling his cock from Ian’s mouth somewhat reluctantly. At the pout that Ian was sending him, the older man simply winked and positioned himself between the long, pale legs, his mouth going dry at the beauty of the man before him.

He would be a liar if he said that he didn’t enjoy every second from the moment Mickey had pulled away and promptly placed his lips on his own to the slow, painstaking descent of his body that the soft lips made. After more than five years of being together and getting to know each other, both mentally and physically, Mickey had learnt exactly what made Ian tick and which of his buttons to press to garner the desired response. And in this case, the reaction that his fiancé was going for was to have the bound man writhing and moaning before he had even gotten below the waist.

“Not been jackin’ off while I was gone?” Mickey asked as he nosed through the coarse red hair close to Ian’s cock, a smirk on his lips as his brows raised high in mocking.

Between breathy moans at the sensation of his fiancé’s stubble brushing against his sensitive, aching cock, Ian mustered, “Only smartasses… ask questions they already know the answers to…”

Pulling back, his eyes wide and bright, Mickey admitted, “The fact you just quoted yourself acceptin’ my proposal is…” He sighed, sitting back to look at his fiancé, his eyes misting over. “I fuckin’ love you, Ian Gallagher.”

“If you loved me then you’d make me feel good,” the redhead almost purred, gnawing on his bottom lip seductively, “take care of me.”

And like that, Mickey was getting down and roughly moving Ian’s legs to give himself access, mumbling out a “Smartass,” before he was licking teasingly over the puckered opening, gripping at Ian’s hips to still his squirming and maintain control.

“Says the one with- with his tongue in it,” Ian managed to get out, gasping when Mickey pressed his tongue into him, attempting to stop the verbal sparring that he knew Ian would willingly keep up throughout a sex session if not stopped.

Stubbornness. It was dangerous when the person knew how to use it to their own advantage, and Ian knew exactly how to manipulate his fiancé when it came to sex. When Ian was enjoying himself, he would lose his coherence; Mickey knew as much, and would often distract Ian’s brain from the conversation by blowing his mind. Or his cock. It really depended on the mood, though often ended up overlapping.

The grinding of the cuffs sliding up the frame of the bed was a delicious sound, urging Mickey’s tongue and hands on because he knew that Ian squirmed all the more when he couldn’t just touch Mickey through the motions of sex.

“Holy fuck, are you…?” The redhead’s breathless question was left in the air. He had opened his eyes to see the older man absorbing all of his noises, movements, and facial expressions as one hand pumped his leaking cock whilst the other was tucked between his own legs. He only received a small hum of agreement from his fiancé, his mouth still occupied even between his small moans and grunts that left Ian shivering at the sensation. “That’s so fucking hot… but I don’t….”

“You will!” Mickey insisted when he sat up. “You will ‘cause it’s gonna’ blow your mind.” He then moved to position himself over Ian’s lubricated erection, having made an effort to utilise the precum, and look over his shoulder at the younger man as he spoke once more. “Deep breath for me,” he began, pressing himself on to Ian slowly, the head just managing to slip in. “Hold it ‘til I say.”

Ian obliged, his eyes never leaving the crystal-clear ones that stared back at him until they were turning away briefly. And in one swift movement, Mickey was seating himself fully on Ian’s cock whilst pressing two fingers into him. He had looked back at Ian again to see the shock and the heave of his chest as he had gasped while holding his breath. The ginger man didn’t need to hold his breath for long, with Mickey gripping at his cock with his other hand and rapidly pumping it as he began to rise and fall with haste.

Ian’s stomach twisted with a delightful warmth as Mickey managed three full bounces before gasping out a “Now,” as he crooked his fingers and hit Ian’s prostate. In the same moment, he had pumped his own cock once more to come with a moan, clenching around the intrusive member. The combination of sensations happening to his body tied in with that much-needed inhale had Ian coming at almost the same time, thrusting up into the man riding him with the impact of his orgasm.

The gasping of both men didn’t subside for a few minutes. Mickey cautiously removed himself from his fiancé before moving to clean him up gently, peppering his still-bound body with kisses. When he was finally done, satisfied that Ian was well taken care of, he unlocked the cuffs and curled into Ian’s embrace, nuzzling close and breathing in the entirety of the younger man.

“That was… amazing,” Ian mumbled before he pressed a gentle kiss to Mickey’s forehead, tasting the salt of the sweat on his lips.

Humming in agreement, Mickey reached up to peck Ian’s lips sweetly before closing his eyes and allowing himself to settle properly into the safe hold of his partner, soon nodding off. Ian only lasted a minute or two longer than the shorter man, eventually succumbing to the veil of tiredness that seemed to have hit their apartment, finally feeling able to sleep properly for the first time in a month.


	2. Step Two: Listening and Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking toward the short-tempered man, Ian was silent until the pair stood with chests almost touching. “I know this shit is hard. And you’ve been at work all day, I get it. But don’t get fucking pissy with me. We’re in this together.” The green eyes that Mickey loved stared deeply into his own, blown with anger. “The box of tiles has the spacers included, Hulk, so calm your fucking ass and get in here and show me the prelim to the fucking porno!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two. Boom!
> 
> As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.

For just over two and a half years, Ian and Mickey worked their asses off to save up for a deposit to get them on the property ladder. Their first apartment had begun to feel too small and too shabby, and so they had moved to a nicer one not far from the North Side three months after Mickey had left a mental hospital for the third time in his life. After a year there, Mickey had proposed a little more permanence.

_“What d’ya’ think of a house?” Mickey had said out of the blue, the slam of the apartment door behind him alerting Ian to his presence before his words could._

_Looking up from where he stood at the stove, Ian mumbled, “Hmm?”_

_Mickey toed off his boots, put his coat on the hook, and moved towards his fiancé, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. He pressed a kiss to the side of neck, letting his chin rest on the taller man’s shoulder. “A house. Like, with a yard, no stairs – or stairs, if that’s what you want.”_

_“Well, yeah, I guess. But the houses in this neighbourhood are daylight robbery!” The redhead pointed out, stirring the pot of spaghetti blindly as he turned to raise a brow in question._

_“Not this neighbourhood, no. But… I was looking at the prices in our old neighbourhood and I think we could do it. Paul helped me work out how much we’d need for a deposit and it wouldn’t be impossible. Like, we could maybe do it in three years.” The blue eyes were hopeful as the owner spoke. “Get us on the ladder then wait for gentrification to make us a profit on it.”_

_“It’s not a bad idea but we only end up with a couple hundred bucks spare a month after bills and shit. What is that…” The redhead paused briefly to do some mental arithmetic, “seventy-two hundred? That would barely get a deposit on a fucking storage unit.”_

_“But what if one of us got promoted to senior mechanic and is makin’ an extra eight grand a year?” Biting his lip to hold back the grin, the dark-haired man simply nodded when his fiancé queried the seriousness of his words._

_The pasta was forgotten as Ian turned to wrap his arms around him, lifting him into the air slightly as he gripped him tightly, pressing a kiss to the grinning lips before congratulating him. “Really? I’m so fucking proud of you! You earnt that shit, Mick!” He kissed the giddy man once more before popping him down to stir the pot that was boiling over, hissing as the water hit the ceramic surface of the hob._

_“So, a house then?”_

_Ian threw his fiancé a grin over his shoulder, humming before he agreed: “A house!”_

It felt strange for Mickey to be blindfolded out of a sexual situation, but he trusted Ian, and that meant not questioning the man’s (somewhat) reasonable requests. So, as the Milkovich man finally felt the car pull to a halt, he turned to his left, his raised eyebrows peeking out from behind the cotton of the tie that inhibited his vision. Mickey didn’t need to be able to see Ian to know that he was laughing at him.

“Yes, we’re here,” Ian chuckled, “and no, you can’t take it off yet.”

A soft pair of lips pressed against his own before the car turned off and Ian’s door opening sent a cold January breeze against their bodies. “It’s a good job I love ya’,” Mickey grumbled into the empty space, allowing Ian to guide him out of the car and all but frogmarch him a short distance.

Feeling the blindfold being removed, Mickey felt his stomach turn with nerves and excitement. “What is this?” He asked, looking around at a house that appeared to have not been decorated since the sixties.

“It’s a fixer-upper,” Ian began, his large hands planted on the brunet’s shoulders, “and it’s ours if you want it. Deposit is less than what we have saved.”

“How much less?” Mickey queried, turning to raise a brow at his fiancé.

A smile pulled at one corner of Ian’s lips. “Ten. Figured with renovations it still leaves us a nice chunk towards the wedding fund.”

“How much are you budgetin’ for renovations? Place needs a ton of work, man.” Mickey was dubious. Unless you had a contractor in the family or knew the right person, you were getting robbed; South Side folk had to make money too!

“Enough for materials and a plumber. Lip agreed to do electrical work, and you and I could do the rest.”

So desperately did Mickey want to point out that between the pair of them they could almost fix a blown fuse or replace a busted lightbulb, but the look of excitement on Ian’s face was something that he wanted to remain there permanently. The thought of saying no to anything that Ian asked of him with those big, green puppy dog eyes seemed almost cruel. And, if he was being honest, the idea of the saved money allowing them to marry sooner made Mickey’s stomach flutter.

Looking at the optimistic eyes, Mickey simply let a smile stretch across his lips before nodding and turning to hug the taller man tightly.

And that was how the pair ended up moving back to their South Side neighbourhood a month later with their families’ homes only a couple of blocks east and west of their own. They had gone to the house a week before their lease on the apartment was up, hoping to salvage one room that would be their ‘liveable’ room until they could work their way through the place.

* * *

“So, where do we start?” Mickey asked as they stood in the larger of the two bedrooms, looking at the peeling wallpaper, soiled carpet, and flaking paint on the woodwork and ceiling.

“Demolition,” Ian grinned, his eyes wide as he knocked his shoulder into Mickey’s. “Make a blank canvas, then we’ll work on the other shit.

“Yeah, okay. Yeah, I can do that.” The older man nodded, playing some music on his phone and placing it down on the windowsill before he began to rummage through the bags from the hardware store for chisels and face masks. Meanwhile, his fiancé worked on setting up the wallpaper stripper they had borrowed from Lip and Mandy’s earlier endeavours on the Milkovich home (turning Iggy’s old room into a nursery).

Operation ‘Blank Canvas’ had been going pretty well, with Mickey eagerly ripping up the carpet and righting any loose nails that were revealed as Ian worked on stripping the wallpaper.

“Ah, fuck! Shit! Cunt! Fuck!”

At least, it was all going well until Mickey’s humming along to AC/DC was interrupted by Ian’s swearing. He had been sanding down the skirting boards where Ian had already removed the sun-faded floral wallpaper when his fiancé cried out a string of obscenities and the handheld of the wallpaper stripper clattered to the floor.

“You okay, man?” Mickey asked, turning to head towards the ginger who was shaking his left hand before cradling it against his chest and breathing deeply.

“Yeah,” Ian grunted, flexing his fingers, “just… some of the condensation or whatever dripped on my hand.”

“Shit. You need to go get some water on that?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Nothing a smoke won’t fix.”

His eyebrows waggling playfully, Mickey queried, “Sure ya’ don’t need me to kiss it better? None dropped on your dick, right?”

Ian’s chest rumbled with a chuckle as he swept a hand through his hair, moving a few stray strands away from his forehead, before moving towards the older man and drawing him in with an arm around the waist. “No, luckily. But I’ll still take that kiss before a smoke,” he grinned, leaning in to do just that. The kiss was salty with sweat from the heat that the steam of the stripper had generated in the room, but equally delicious for both men nonetheless. “Come on, let’s take a break so I can lick my wounds.”

“I know it goes without sayin’, but I’ll willingly lick your wounds.” Mickey’s comment simply earned him an eye-roll and a slap on the ass before Ian was heading out to the creaky porch, lighting up a smoke.

With the larger bedroom being sound in terms of gas and electric, it was the easiest room for the two men to work on, with the biggest issue being getting carpet fitted on short notice. “Fuck it, we’ll just sand it back and throw a rug down!” Mickey had declared the night before they left the North Side apartment for good.

With Ian on an early shift the day of the move, Mickey had gone to the hardware store, bought the sturdiest sander he could find, and gone at the unevenly coloured floorboards until he saw the natural oak across the entire floor. From there, it was mostly just a case of cleaning every single surface in the room, the residue from the sanding having thoroughly glazed the room in dust. He had managed to also move some items of furniture into the room (including an amply sized rug he had purchased from Target when he had gone out for the sander), and was sat assembling the bed frame when Ian walked in.

“Oh, man, the floor looks amazing!” Ian leant down to press a chaste kiss to his fiancé’s lips before dropping his backpack on the floor and walking to the opposite side of the ‘bed’ (Mickey had lain all of the pieces out in a skeletal arrangement to make the assembly easier) to work on the side that had not been started.

“’Ey, you’ve had a long day at work, don’t do this, silly,” Mickey chided, frowning at the redhead.

Shrugging, Ian sent a middle finger at the older man before continuing to fasten the head of the frame to the side. “We knew doing a place up would be long days. Besides, can’t exactly sit on the couch as there’s a load of shit on it, so I might as well help make sure we have a bed to sleep in tonight.”

“Touché, salesman,” Mickey chuckled, his smile warm and affectionate.

“You’ve been watching _Family Guy_ reruns on your smoke breaks, haven’t you?” Ian grinned, seeing his fiancé blushing slightly at being caught out.

“Just one. Ya’ know, I really think we should get volcano insurance for this place.”

“If there’s any money left over from the handsome cream, then sure!”

“Wait. Who are you suggestin’ needs handsome cream? Because you and me are some of the finest asses in this neighbourhood.” Furrowing a brow in question, Mickey was met with a smirk and avoiding eyes from the younger man. “’Ey, ya’ fuckin’ asshole!” He offered a pair of middle fingers in outrage, a washer dropping from his fingers with a clang.

“Oh, shut up. You know if this bed were built, I’d be jumping you right away.”

“Nice save. However, we really don’t need a bed for sex…”

The dark eyebrows were raised suggestively, but he shot back Ian announcing “No, put your dick out of your thoughts. If we fuck, this room will never get finished and I am not sleeping on the floor. Not a chance, Milkovich!” Ian paused for a moment. “And don’t you dare give me those fucking puppy dog eyes! Jesus, you can suck my dick in the shower or something. Call it your appetiser.”

“Not even mad,” Mickey simply shrugged, getting back to finishing his side of the frame.

Later that night, laying in bed in a completed room in their own house felt amazing. They had had amazing sex after a horny Mickey had rutted up against Ian persistently, earning grumbles of tiredness (“ _Be tired in twenty minutes, I’ll do all the work, anyways!_ ” “ _You drive a hard bargain, but seeing as I’m off work tomorrow._ ”), before nodding off in what they could only imagine was the nearest they would experience to marital bliss whilst still unwed.

But the next day brought on a whole list of hurdles for the pair.

“Where do we start next?” Ian had pondered after a quick breakfast of cereal and coffee as the pair sat on the porch smoking.

It was a good question. And they batted ideas back and forth for what must have been a good thirty minutes, with many cigarettes being smoked during the time. It was more than tempting to choose the easiest room to do next (the smaller bedroom, with it only requiring the same treatment as their own room and the addition of a light fixture and power outlet needing rewiring), but it wasn’t an urgency. The room was a spare room, not one required for another human, so it was silly to do it first was Ian’s logic. Instead, he had suggested the kitchen; “Functionality, Mick! I need to eat something that isn’t made in the microwave!”

“Yeah, but the extractor needs replacin’, the tiles are fucked, the sink, the floor, the cabinets. It’s a never-endin’ list. The only salvageable thing is the worktop!”

The pair had battled between themselves on the matter, with Mickey proposing alternative arguments before eventually submitting to his fiancé’s logical idea. And he grunted his way through agreeing, never once admitting that Ian was right, even when the younger man had poked him in the ribs and sent him a shit-eating grin, trying to prise the words of defeat from his lips to no avail.

Once again, the demolition element of the renovation was the easy part. They stripped back the large room to its framework during the remainder of the morning and afternoon, the refrigerator and microwave plugged in in the lounge temporarily left only wiring for the oven hanging out of the wall, the sink, and bare cupboards. Mickey had been about to rip out the cupboards, sledgehammer at the ready, when Ian had wrapped his arms around the shorter man to grip over his hands, stopping the swing of the oversized hammer as he said softly into his ear “Don’t you dare, Wreck-It Ralph, those cupboards are fine, they just need new doors and fresh liner paper.”

Sighing, Mickey turned to offer his fiancé a scowl before relaxing his hold on the tool and grumbling “Will you ever let me use my sledgehammer?”

“I let you use it last night!” Ian pointed out, his lips stretching into a wide grin.

The grip he had on the sledgehammer that hung by his legs was released, dropping to the floor with a soft _clunk_ , but not enough force to damage the floorboards. “I was _not_ on about my dick!” He sighed, knocking his head sideways slightly to bump it against the ginger’s. “Jesus, ya’ horn-dog, go rub one out or somethin’ while I take these doors off then.”

“Oh, shut up, you always make the dick jokes!” Ian popped a sweet kiss on Mickey’s stubbly cheek before squeezing his hip. He picked up the discarded sledgehammer before his partner could reach for it, placing it in the corner of the room. “Are the cupboards flat-head or Phillips?”

“Flat,” Mickey’s voice bounced about in the open cupboard as he examined the fixings. “Thanks.” Mickey worked from the left side of the cupboards as Ian worked from the right, the pair meeting in the middle and having a minor make-out session on the bare floor, with tank tops being shed as the kissing and groping heated both men up.

With the flooring in the kitchen booked in for Saturday, the couple worked on the room between their shifts, managing to get the easier jobs completed, having the room painted, all woodwork freshly glossed, and the cupboard shelves lined. They had agreed to go shopping Friday evening when Mickey got out of work, Ian picking him up (he was on a block of three days off) and driving them straight to the hardware store.

“Ian, we can’t have fuckin’ white cupboards!”

“But they’ll look great with the black worktop.” Ian pointed out, waving towards a show kitchen where the doors were on show with a marble worktop not dissimilar from their own.

“And they’ll get dirty in two minutes,” the older man groaned. “I don’t wanna’ spend hours cleanin’ the cupboard doors.”

“But if we get the high gloss ones then they’ll come out sparkling with a baby wipe.” The ginger brows were high, his lips pulled in as he looked to Mickey hopefully. “And… they’re on sale, Mickey. We’d be stupid not to.”

“I ain’t cleanin’ those doors. Ever. That’s your job.”

“You’re the best, Mick!” Ian grinned, clapping his hands on his fiancé’s shoulders before heading off to get the cupboard doors, drawers, and plinths. “You can pick out the rest of the stuff we need today-” Noticing Mickey raising a finger, a smirk on his lips, Ian cut in, “So long as it matches!”

“You’re no fun.”

Emptying the car of the items they had purchased was the last step before they had to actually sit and educate themselves on the more skilled parts of renovation. All of the latest purchases bar the tiles for the backsplash were put in a near-empty corner of the lounge before they plonked themselves on the floor in the kitchen, the tiles and necessary paraphernalia beside them.

“Okay, YouTube, teach me how to tile in under five minutes,” Mickey laughed, pressing play on his phone, and watching the video entitled _How to Tile a Backsplash in Under 5 Minutes_.

If Mickey was being honest, the video made it look pretty easy. Cement, smooth, tile, wipe, spacers, dry. Hang on. Spacers. They didn’t have any of those.

“Ian, what the fuck, why don’t we have any of those little spacers? The tiles are gonna’ slide all over the place and look like shit and then it’ll ruin the entire room!” Mickey’s voice was panicked and rising in volume as he instantly catastrophised.

Eyes wide and shoulders shrugging, Ian responded equally loudly. “The dude at the store told me we didn’t need them!”

“Well, he lied! He’s a liar! Get in the car, we’re goin’ back there and rippin’ that asshole a new one!” The shouting man was standing up and rummaging around in the lounge. “Where’s the fuckin’ keys, Ian?”

“Hey, cut your fucking tone and listen to me!” The ginger man stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding the keys he was searching for in the air, wiggling them slightly. His voice had been loud and firm, commanding his fiancé’s attention.

Turning to look at his partner with his chest puffed out, Mickey raised his eyebrows in question, waiting for him to continue. “What?” He snapped when Ian didn’t speak, simply standing with a hand on his hip and his pissed-off face (jutting chin inclusive).

Walking toward the short-tempered man, Ian was silent until the pair stood with chests almost touching. “I know this shit is hard. And you’ve been at work all day, I get it. But don’t get fucking pissy with me. We’re in this together.” The green eyes that Mickey loved stared deeply into his own, blown with anger. “The box of tiles has the spacers included, Hulk, so calm your fucking ass and get in here and show me the prelim to the fucking porno!”

As it turned out, Ian was a dab hand at the tiling, and especially productive once the pair of them had gotten into the swing of Ian applying the cement, Mickey passing him the tile and spacer, and him then laying it. It was a quiet task really, with only general acknowledgements of items being received breaking the peace occasionally. He knew that he was sometimes a little off for a while after an outburst (mostly just quiet and distracted), and didn’t want Ian having to experience his negativity, knowing how hard it was when you couldn’t help someone to feel better; he needed to try and snap himself out of it. With that in mind, and well aware that he was more of a spare part in the process, he excused himself to head out and get them some dinner when it got to eight o’clock.

“I’m thinkin’ Thai. Any preference?” Mickey asked as he plucked the keys from his partner’s pocket, rubbing a hand up and down Ian’s taut chest.

“As long as there is pad Thai and Mickey lo mein then I’m happy!”

Laughing softly, Mickey rubbed once more over his fiancé’s pectoral before pinching his nipple swiftly and winking, a false action to try and force himself into a better mood. “I’ll ignore the fact that lo mein is Chinese,” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the front door.

The journey to their favourite Thai place was quiet. Mickey had turned off the radio, wanting to mull over his thoughts in peace. When he had been unkind in a rage and had finally taken in what he had done and how he had treated others was when he usually skulked away to have some time to allow all of the discomfort and guilt to filter through and be processed, before returning to apologise like a dog with its tail between its legs. It always felt like he had been a spoilt brat, when in reality he knew he had been splitting. It only ever really happened when he was stressed, but it felt draining afterwards and never aided in alleviating the stress.

After ordering their food and being advised of a twenty-minute wait, the Milkovich man walked down the street to the off-licence, picking up a six-pack of Old Style and a fresh carton of cigarettes. He then sat on a bench close to the take-out, uncapping a beer and taking a long drink as he tapped his left foot against the pavement uneasily. For the duration of the beer and two cigarettes, Mickey sat and tried to flush the negativity out from his brain; he thought of the wedding, of what their house would become, of the new inhabitants it may house, and of the future he had once never dreamed of having after losing Jake.

And yet he had managed to meet a lost, familiar-looking, ginger boy in the worst of situations, gotten through enough shit to have some people give up – hell, he had tried himself! – and managed to come out engaged to said boy, who had grown into a strong, intelligent, beautiful man. Mickey was lucky – and he was aware of it – but he just sometimes struggled to maintain a clear perspective on his life and the leaps and bounds he had come in the last decade. Moments like these, where he just stopped and forgot everything for a moment helped him to get that clarity back.

Walking back into the house with beer in one hand and take-out in the other, he felt refreshed. The kitchen was empty, with the tiling completed and any tools and remaining materials pooled in the centre of the floor. He placed their dinner on the worktop before going in search of his fiancé, hearing the hum of water splashing against the base of the tub as he walked towards the bathroom.

One knock on the door earned a muffled “Yeah?” from the younger man.

“Hey, just me,” Mickey spoke softly, closing the door behind him and being engulfed by the steam of the room.

“I’ll just be a couple minutes.”

Shedding his clothes, the dark-haired man mumbled “Don’t rush,” as he pulled back the shower curtain to join his fiancé under the warm spray, standing against his back. Reaching down to pick up the two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, Mickey deposited some into his palm before reaching up to massage it into the ginger locks that filled his hopes and dreams. “I’m sorry,” he finally admitted, “I wasn’t fair to you earlier.”

“It’s fine.” The redhead brushed off the apology, dipping his head under the water to wash away the suds from his hair.

Gripping Ian’s broad shoulders, Mickey forced the man to turn and face him, looking into the green eyes as he said, “No, it’s not. Ya’ didn’t do nothin’ and I still yelled at ya’, like a piece of shit.” He wrapped his arms about the taller man’s waist, pulling him closer, feeling their groins meet between them as he rested his forehead against the freckled chest.

“You weren’t,” Ian conceded, “but I understand how hard all the stress of it is for you.”

“No.” The blue eyes shot up. “No, it’s not- it doesn’t excuse it.” He kneaded at Ian’s lumbar as he spoke. “You… mean the absolute world to me, Ian. You’re literally the best thing to happen to my life and… I don’t tell ya’ that enough, but… it doesn’t mean I don’t feel that way and appreciate everythin’ ya’ do.”

“I love you, too.” Ian leaned down to press a kiss to his fiancé’s lips, the latter melting into the kiss and maintaining the current proximity between their bodies.

Sitting down on their bed with reheated Thai and beers adorning their bedside tables, the couple ended the night on a high, just being close and relaxing. For the first time in what felt like forever, Ian and Mickey both had a whole weekend off together, which meant plenty of work on the house would get done. And that allowed for an early finish that night to just kick back with a movie on.

“Never realised how much I missed watchin’ TV in bed,” Mickey remarked, turning to look at his fiancé with a soft smile.

A smirk on his lips, Ian spoke with a chuckle in his tone. “That because you’re just thinking about that time when-”

“No. Shut the fuck up, asshole. I’m not. That’s not what I’m thinkin’-”

The immediate denial was cut off by the redhead’s lips pressing against his, a hand on his jaw, “Who says I didn’t think of the same thing?” The green eyes were fiery and excitable as smoothed his thumb across the planes of Mickey’s face and up into his hair.

“You sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”

Rolling on top of the shorter man, Ian was kissing up Mickey’s neck and jaw, speaking between kisses. “I’m sayin’… change the fuckin’ channel!”

That was enough for Mickey, feeling himself getting hard as he selected one of the rarely watched channels and haphazardly tried to shove the controller back on to the bedside table, hearing it clatter against the metal of the bed frame before landing on the rug, long forgotten.

*** * ***

After the linoleum had been laid in the kitchen, the pair saw the fitter out before discarding of their shoes and walking back and forth across the floor to feel the benefits of the extra underlay that they had splashed out on.

“Softer than any carpet I ever had,” Mickey grinned as he rocked back on the balls of his feet. “So, come on, let’s get this shit done today. We can have this room done by tomorrow if Lip’s around to do the extractor and the oven.”

“Yeah?” Ian looked up from where he was experimentally bouncing on the cushioned floor, staring at the dark grey tile-effect that adorned the floorboards they had become used to. “Okay, I’ll call him. You gonna’ start on those cupboards and I’ll be in to help?”

“Just call me Fix-It Felix!” Mickey grinned as he saluted with his middle finger, mocking Ian’s _Wreck-It Ralph_ reference from the week before.

“I’ll fix _you_ , Felix!” The younger man had mumbled as he walked into the lounge to call his older brother.

As luck would have it, Mandy was working an evening shift at the call centre, so Lip had agreed to come over and help the couple with their wiring as soon as he had dropped his girlfriend off.

“Wow, guys, this is looking awesome!” Lip complimented when he walked into the monochrome kitchen, taking in the fresh appearance that replaced its once dank, worn one.

“Thanks, man,” Ian smiled as he enveloped his brother in a strong hug.

Mickey appeared from the lounge, having pulled a beer from the fridge for the eldest Gallagher brother. “Yeah, it’s not lookin’ too shabby,” he agreed, earning a punch in the arm from Ian along with an eye-roll.

“Just the drawers and the faucet left to do after the electrical?” The lanky brunet asked as he focused on uncapping his beer and taking a hearty gulp. When Ian nodded, Lip grinned, “That’s insane! You’ve turned this around so quickly given you’re both still working.”

“Yeah, it’s been a killer.” A freckled arm wrapped around Mickey’s shoulders, as though acknowledging their struggle yesterday. “But… it’ll be nice to not have to eat in the bedroom. Most of the shit in the lounge is all kitchen stuff and furniture to be unpacked and moved, so a good job done.”

Clapping Ian on the back, Lip agreed, “Definitely,” before draining his bottle and popping it on the worktop. He then picked up his toolkit and began to unpack it beside the gap for the oven, arranging the tools and equipment he needed. Due to his height, Ian aided in the installation of the large chrome extractor hood whilst Mickey worked on attaching the new drawer facings and fitting the final plinths below the cupboards before tackling the faucet.

“Oh, fuck!” Mickey grunted as water erupted from the base of the faucet, flowing over his hands, luckily only spilling a little on to the worktop as most of it managed to trickle back into the sink.

There was a chorus of laughter from the Gallagher boys as both watched his error. “Forget to turn off the water?” Lip asked teasingly.

“I will turn off your God damned face if you say another word!” The shorter man warned, scowling at the sink as he tried to do as the video had shown him.

The plumbing wasn’t difficult. Or at least, it wouldn’t have been if he had remembered to the turn off the water and drain the pipes. Instead, it was just a very wet process that later saw the pipes that housed the hot and cold water spilling into the cupboard beneath the sink and soaking the fresh lining paper they had fitted during the week.

“Fucking fuck! Fuck it! Stupid fuckin’ faucet!” That was it. The domino effect through the week had led to his own volcano of emotion and stress erupting. Standing up and disregarding the plumbing and ruined shelf, he stormed from the kitchen shouting obscenities, kicking the couch on his way to the front door. “Why didn’t we just but a house that was already fuckin’ done?!” He bellowed as he slammed the door behind him. With such aggression, he threw himself on to the step of the porch, feeling the lip of the one above smash into his lower back hard enough to make him wince in pain. His entire body shook with anger as he swore in pain, punching at the step that he sat on in rage. Wood splintered skin as the door opened behind him.

“Here.” Ian’s words were gentle as he sat beside Mickey and handed him an icepack and popped a cigarette between his lips, lighting it for him. And then no words were spoken as Ian lit his own smoke and simply sat with his fiancé in support.

Gestures like this were what made Mickey feel sure that he was with the person that he was destined to spend the rest of his life with. Ian knew the difference between Mickey being pissed at a minor inconvenience and a minor inconvenience being the straw that broke the camel’s back. He knew that Mickey just needed to let the steam out after boiling over and not be talked at nonstop, just like he knew that Mickey always punched something in this fit of rage and that it was always out of frustration and not an act of self-harm.

It was hard to describe to somebody who didn’t experience the unnecessarily escalated levels of aggression and hostility that a B.P.D. sufferer lived with regularly, but it was like the idea of cascading failures. One thing would go wrong and it was a pain in the ass, but then another would happen, and another, and often the tipping point would be when he was doing something productive or selfless that went wrong. These things happening in close succession then felt like a tsunami of shit crashing down and making it hard not to drown in the aggression.

“Thanks,” Mickey finally grunted after stubbing out his cigarette and placing it into a large plant pot like Mandy had inspired at the old Milkovich house.

“I’m sorry if you felt like you couldn’t say no to me about the house,” Ian sighed, taking Mickey’s hand and removing the icepack to look at the damage inflicted on the knuckles that bore faded ‘FUCK’ tattoos.

Not looking away from a crack in the sidewalk, Mickey grunted noncommittally. It wasn’t that he had felt he couldn’t say no, it was that he didn’t _want_ to say no. They had both grown up in worlds that held nothing but ‘no’s and ‘we can’t afford it’s, so he wanted them to be able to have the things they wanted after years of fighting their way out of that world. “It’s not that. I love the idea of us fixin’ the house, it’s just… me. Ya’ know how I am, and some things end up being harder than others. Ain’t nothin’ your fault.” He tensed as he felt Ian prodding at his knuckles before feeling a pinch. “Ah, Jesus, man! What the fuck?”

“Sorry, splinter.” The redhead held his index finger out to show the hefty splinter that must have been close enough to the surface for Ian’s short nails to remove. Replacing the pressure of the icepack on his knuckles pulled a wincing hiss from the brunet before he sighed and rested his head on Ian’s shoulder. “I know.” The younger man pressed a soft kiss into Mickey’s hair. “We can bring someone in to do the harder things, save the likelihood of us fucking them up.”

“Nah.” Mickey turned to look at Ian with bright eyes. “Part of the other reason I couldn’t say no to the house is ‘cause the idea of havin’ the money to spend on the weddin’ was so excitin’. Imagine it, gettin’ married before I’m thirty and looking like some geriatric viagroid in our wedding pictures!”

“Oh, shut up, you’re beautiful.”

“I said old, not ugly,” Mickey pointed out with a raised brow.

His lips spreading into a large grin, Ian reiterated, “And I said beautiful.”

“Fuckin’ ass!” Mickey reached to nuggie his partner’s hair, leaning into him as he said, “Remind me again why I wanna’ be a Gallagher when you’re all assholes?”

About to respond with something witty about how _he_ had been the one to propose, Ian was taken aback when Mickey’s words had rattled back and forth between his ears a couple of times. “You want to be a Gallagher?” He asked, looking at Mickey with serious, questioning eyes.

“I… yeah?” It was obvious to him. He assumed Ian knew, sure that he had mentioned it before.

“You never said.” A freckled hand cupped his cheek, smoothing at the corner of his lip.

His eyes firm, Mickey simply explained “I don’t want nothin’ to do with that asshole,” referencing his incarcerated father.

“I understand.”

And then Ian was encircling the older man in his arms and pulling him close, inhaling everything about him that he could. Mickey shook in Ian’s embrace. It was the first time in a long time that he had thought of Terry Milkovich and it brought back a flood of memories. “Don’t,” Mickey had said, gripping tighter around his fiancé’s waist when the younger man had made a move to separate, “just need a minute.”

“You can have forever.” Ian’s words breathed into his ear sent shivers up his spine.

Forever with this man was truly all he wanted in life.

*** * ***

The remainder of the restoration of their new home was pretty similar to the bedroom in that most rooms simply needed gutting and smarting, with the exception of a few cracks and holes needing to be repaired and a new outlet or light fixture replaced. Mickey had liked the flooring in their bedroom enough to commit to a weekend of sanding the lounge and attached hallway.

_“We’re stoppin’ at Mandy’s,” Mickey had stated when Ian returned from work Sunday evening to find his fiancé sat on the front porch with a duffel bag beside him._

_“Huh? Why?”_

_His cheeks had flushed as he looked away from Ian and mumbled, “Might have… had a little spare time and stained all the floorboards.” When he finally refocused to meet Ian’s wide, questioning eyes, the older man simply shrugged and said, “Can’t walk on it for a day, so the bedroom and bathroom are a no-go unless you’re usin’ the windows.”_

_Biting back a smirk, Ian queried, “And did you, by any chance, have to test the window theory to get our shit?_

_“Open the fuckin’ car, asshole,” was all the response Ian received as his fiancé slung the duffel over his shoulder and walked to stand at the car expectantly. He waved a middle finger when Ian interpreted the response as confirmation and began laughing._

Removing the old tiling from the bathroom was a joint effort, and then Ian smartly took to tiling the bathroom on a day off when Mickey was working, managing the entire room during his fiancé’s shift, save fifteen minutes of tidying and smoothing away excess grout that Mickey returned to aid with. The completion of the tiling in the bathroom meant that the only jobs left to do inside the house were for the professionals.

A week later, the plumber was arriving to replace the mixer shower for an electric one and install new radiators throughout the house. And the next week saw fresh bathroom linoleum and the carpets through the bedrooms fitted (despite Mickey insisting the flooring in their bedroom was fine; “ _I’m not fucking on floorboards, Mick,_ ” was persuasion enough though), leading to the completion of their little South Side house. And that meant that the final job was to just tidy the backyard, tighten porch screws, and paint external fixings, a few easy jobs to do with the March air beginning to dry out. These were completed in time for the couple to be available for Lip’s birthday party on the last Saturday of the month and not have to return home to jobs to do.

They were lucky enough for the day to be dry with a clear sky, allowing the herd of Gallaghers, Milkoviches, and colleagues and friends of Lip’s to filter the party out into the yard without fear of getting soaked. It was almost exciting waiting for Lip to come through to the backyard and see more than his immediate family waiting. Mandy had insisted they go to a mall out of town so they could get some items for the house that she had seen online, meaning that Mickey and Ian could decorate the house and yard and allow entrance to guests.

“What the fuck, Mandy? It’s not even a big birthday!” Lip pointed out as he rolled his eyes but grinned at the large turnout. Lip accepted hugs and claps on the back from his siblings.

“Well, we might be a little too busy to do a big birthday next year.” She knocked her arm against his as she joked, “Ungrateful asshole, just enjoy your fucking birthday.”

After separating from Debbie, Lip wrapped his arms about his girlfriend’s waist and squeezed at her bum, leaning in to press a kiss against her lips. “Thank you,” he mumbled into the kiss before pulling back, as though fully processing her words. “Wait, why might we be too busy to celebrate me reaching the big three-oh?”

His sister’s cheeks flushed, Mickey saw as he stood a small distance away, sipping on a beer. “There might be little feet getting in the way.” Reading his sister’s lips for the quiet words had his eyes going wide, much like Ian’s.

As Lip was laughing and grinning, lifting the Milkovich girl into the air to spin her around and repeatedly yell “I can’t believe it,” Ian was tapping Mickey’s shoulder and querying what was going on, obviously noticing the shocked expression he wore.

“Umm, I think Mandy’s pregnant again…” the dark-haired man whispered into his fiancé’s ear, leaning into his side slightly.

“Are you sure?”

“Dunno’, think so. Read her lips, but… every chance I read wrong.” He looked up to meet the enticing green eyes, showing the taller man how worried he was for his sister.

Ian squeezed his waist, leaning their foreheads together as he began to speak. “I know you’re scared after-”

His fiancé’s words were cut off by Lip cheering loudly for all to hear: “I’m gonna’ be a dad! I’m gonna’ be a fucking dad!”

Whilst the yard erupted into cheers and applause as their siblings were crowded around by party guests wanting to congratulate them, Ian kept a comforting hold on his distracted fiancé who was focused on keeping an eye on his sister. It felt selfish to feel so on edge about something that shouldn’t even be directly worrisome for him. Mandy was the one who had suffered last time, and she was the one who would be affected by her pregnancy, not him. But that didn’t stop the brotherly instinct of wanting to shield her from anything that could possibly hurt her, that could lead to her laying in her bed unmoving for days on end again.

Finally, when the crowd cleared away, Mandy pulled away from her boyfriend to head towards her brother and the man who would soon be another one. Two pairs of blue eyes locked and then she was smiling sadly at him, asking “Are you not excited to be an uncle?”

His sister’s words were enough for his lips to twinge at one side as he nodded and pulled her into a hug. “Of course I am, I just…”

The blonde woman smoothed a hand through his hair and nodded into the hug. “I know, me too,” she admitted shakily, “but… doctors are seeing me every couple weeks, and… they said the babies are healthy.”

Pulling back, Mickey asked, “Babies?”

With glassy eyes, his sister nodded, “Babies. Two. I’m three months along.”

Mickey said nothing for a moment, simply hugging the tearful woman tightly. “Well done,” he whispered before pulling back. “But… ya’ might wanna’ try and keep that weight off unless ya' wanna’ wear a moo-moo to the wedding!”

“Hang on! After ten years, you guys set a date?”

And soon the worry was forgotten. Rubbing a hand up the back of his neck, Mickey nodded bashfully. “Yeah… September fifteenth,” he supplied, smiling into the congratulatory hug that his sister was forcing on him.

And the talk of the wedding was enough for Ian to know that he wouldn’t be invading. He stepped forwards to wrap his arms around the blonde and give his own congratulations, saying “Even in a moo-moo, you’ll be the hottest chick there!”

“I’m so happy for you,” Mandy sighed as she wrapped an arm around each man’s neck, pulling them in close and holding on tightly. “This year is gonna’ be our year. All of us.”

“Yep, year of the fuckin’ wet rats movin’ on up in the world!” Mickey laughed as he pulled back before his sister could punch him.

“Shut up, assface. Besides, it’s the year of the rooster actually.”

“Can you believe she actually hangs that corny-ass animal calendar that the Chinese place gives out after New Year’s?”

“That straights just aren’t as tasteful as us,” the redhead shrugged, “no, never.” He earned himself a slap to the arm as Mandy mumbled about how there was nothing wrong with her taste, but that her inner South Side self couldn’t come to throw away useful shit, especially when it was free.

She was right, though. It would be their year. And that rooster was going to crow so loudly and give them all that fresh chapter in their lives that they all deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: splitting (kinda?), anxiety, overthinking


	3. Step Three: Growing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told ya’!”
> 
> “Nobody likes a fucking know-it-all,” he groused, waving the middle finger of his free arm in his direction
> 
> With a cocky grin, Mickey responded, “Don’t need ‘nobody’ to, just you.”
> 
> “Okay, but one day you’ll realise that quoting yourself in real life is just pretentious and not as cute or quirky as you think it is. It’s a literary technique, Mick, not a public speaking one!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, only one more left! Anyways, here is the wedding. I cried writing their vows and it was hella' emotional for me.
> 
> As a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, what sort of pain am I expecting?” Ian asked as he looked to his left to see his fiancé rolling his eyes and smirking.

Clearing his throat and thumbing at his lip, the dark-haired man said, “Well, compared to what’s there now, it’s gonna’ be a fuckin’ tickle, man,” biting back a laugh at the irony of the younger man’s question. When he received a middle finger and a tongue sticking out, Mickey simply shrugged a little before explaining, “Nah, it’s seriously just a scratch – you’ve endured worse in bed!”

“Fucking nasty bastards.” The large man who was free-handing shapes across Ian’s arms to ensure full coverage chuckled, glancing at the ginger man, causing the latter to blush slightly.

“’Ey, Toby, we ain’t payin’ ya’ to have fuckin’ opinions, we’re payin’ ya to stab us!” Mickey called out over the top of the blonde woman who was transferring the stencil on to his own arm and applying petroleum jelly to the scarred skin.

They had decided to spend money that would have gone towards a honeymoon on getting tattoos to cover the scars of their past, saying that it would be like a truly fresh start. As such, it saw the pair waiting in a North Side tattoo studio on a warm, late April morning preparing to spend a long time sitting on their asses. The pair had booked both artists for the full day with hopes of being able to cover both arms of each man in the twelve-hour slot. Ian had been dubious about sitting for his first tattoo for such a long time, but had been assured by Mickey that he had handled worse pains, so the tattoos would be a breeze for him.

Toby rolled his eyes and continued to draw the last few lines on Ian’s right arm as he asked, “Is he always like that?”

“For the last decade,” Ian laughed, looking down to see the outline of an eagle’s face from one side that wrapped around his forearm, with feathers doodled around the more obvious scars that the main stencil didn’t quite cover. There was always that patriotic side of Ian that had wanted to join the army, but his disorder had made sure to write that off. Nonetheless, he still felt that civic pride inside of him and wanted to show it. It also was a little symbolic of the freedom he had in life with his disorder now managed; he had joked to Mickey, when asked about if there was any significance, that it would allow him to fly better if he ever tried to window-dive again. That remark had earned him a disapproving glance covered by a roll of those icy, blue orbs.

“And yet you still put up with my ass,” the man in question observed, pointedly sending Ian a proud and accomplished look.

“It’s a nice ass,” was the younger man’s final remark before he was being asked to check the design in the mirror and see if he was happy with the placement and for them to begin. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good. Thanks.” He nodded as he sat back in the chair and extended his arm on to the padded armrest.

As Toby began to rub petroleum jelly on to his freshly-shaven arm, the ginger man turned towards his fiancé to see him nodding and smiling at him as he was already being tattooed himself, the buzzing in the air familiar when they had first booked their appointments.

“Okay?” Toby asked, receiving a nod from Ian. “Okay.”

“I told ya’!”

“Nobody likes a fucking know-it-all,” he groused, waving the middle finger of his free arm in his direction

With a cocky grin, Mickey responded, “Don’t need ‘nobody’ to, just you.”

“Okay, but one day you’ll realise that quoting yourself in real life is just pretentious and not as cute or quirky as you think it is. It’s a literary technique, Mick, not a public speaking one!”

Laughing, Ian received a middle finger in return as his boyfriend had looked away and grumbled out “I hope Toby makes it real fuckin’ painful,” causing a wave of laughter to ripple about the small tattoo studio from the three other people in the room.

“Nah, it’s not too bad; he has a real soft touch. Not the softest I’ve experienced, but a close second,” Ian joked after a moment, winking at his fiancé.

As it turned out, the soft touch didn’t last long. Once it got to shading in the bird and putting texture and depth into it, the sensation transitioned into a gnawing burn that he was very aware of. Nothing that he couldn’t handle, but not something he would willingly volunteer for should there be no purpose. But when his right arm was complete save for the eagle’s eye, Ian felt giddy with the results so far, ready to press through just a little longer so that he could have the steely Milkovich eye on his skin permanently. He waited patiently as Toby mixed up a variety of blue and grey inks before opening a close-up of Mickey’s eye to work from. Watching the colours form the familiar iris was mesmerising, even though the constant blending of the colours became like more of a stabbing feeling with the repeated lines and strokes of the needle.

Taking a break was a relief, with Ian eagerly stepping outside for a cigarette and some fresh air. It wasn’t that it was unbearable, but that his legs and backside had fallen asleep and he was too polite to ask to move unless Toby had asked if he needed to. His fiancé was soon joining him, knocking their hips together as they rested against the windowsill of the studio.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked after a couple of much-needed drags of nicotine had been inhaled.

Ian nodded. “Yeah. It’s just a long fucking time. My ass hurts.”

“I’ll make it hurt more tonight if ya’ want?”

Punching Mickey’s bicep, Ian scoffed before looking down to admire the other man’s tattoo. It was a forest scene that wrapped around his wrist, the trees climbing up his forearm strategically placed to cover condemning scars. “It looks good,” he complimented, lifting his fiancé’s hand to twist it and allow him to see the other angles of the tattoo through the plastic wrap.

“Yeah, Angelica did a good job. Other side is lookin’ like it’ll cover well from where she put the stencil,” Mickey noted, perching the cigarette between his lips as he moved to lift his left arm, showing the one which held that ‘I’ that both men always tried not to think about when they saw it. It was the same style as his right arm, but with a silhouetted moon around the peak of the tallest tree, the dark curve of the lunar object covering the top tail of the dreaded letter. He received a hum of agreement before he was asking “You gonna’ be okay to sit for the other?”

“I… yeah, should be. Toby said that it should be easier because it more linework than actual shading.”

“Okay. Well, if you can’t, you call it. The money ain’t an issue if we need to book another session.”

“You really are such a soft touch, Mickey Milkovich.” Ian leaned over to pop a sweet kiss on to the older man’s cheek, being caught off guard by him anticipating the kiss and turning to meet his lips, smiling cheekily, his tongue poking through his teeth when Ian pulled back. “And smooth, apparently.”

“Like a baby’s ass if you feel my arms!” Mickey laughed before finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out with his boot. “Come on, let’s get some food in ya’ and see if ya’ can’t take it like a man.” He winked playfully as he held the studio door open for his fiancé.

Usually, any touch on his forearms would make Ian squirm, but having Mickey soothe the aftercare cream on to the linework wolf face that travelled down his arm felt calming later on that evening.

“It’s pretty fuckin’ cool, ya’ know,” Mickey commented once he had finished and moved to do the eagle.

Jutting out his chin and smirking proudly, Ian pointed out, “Of course it is, it’s on me – it instantly becomes cool when it’s on me.”

“Jesus, you’ve been spendin’ too much time with Mandy!” The older man rolled his eyes as he rotated Ian’s arm to continue applying the cream. “’Ey, why’s it blue? Thought you said you didn’t want any colour.”

Almost bashfully, Ian looked up from his seat on the toilet lid and said, “It’s you – your eye, I mean. Because you’re part of what makes me feel free.”

“That’s some sappy fuckin’ gay shit,” Mickey laughed as he finished the task at hand. “But… it’s real fuckin’ nice, too.” He bent down to capture his fiancé’s lips in a warm, passionate kiss, gripping at the freckled cheeks and willing the pair to be even closer. “I love you, Ian. So much.”

“And that isn’t gay and sappy?” The redhead quirked a brow in question as his partner moved away.

“Not when I say it.” Mickey mocked. “When I say it, _it’s instantly cool_.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Ian grumbled swatting at one of the toned thighs in front of him before standing up. “Need me to do yours or you want me to sort dinner?”

“Dinner. Definitely dinner. How ‘bout we order in a pizza or somethin’?”

Nodding, Ian hummed in agreement before leaving the bathroom to call in their food order and get a couple of beers opened and on the coffee table. As an afterthought, he quickly went to the linen closet to get a couple of blankets and spare pillows for them to curl up on the sofa with, arranging them before he sat down to scroll through Netflix for their evening’s entertainment.

When Mickey finally emerged from the bathroom, changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, he was quiet with puffy eyes. He slotted himself under the blanket beside Ian, taking his partner’s left hand away from where it held his phone to wrap it around himself.

“Hey, what’s up?” The younger man asked, placing his phone down when he noticed after a moment that his fiancé hadn’t even acknowledged the beer that was waiting for him.

“Nothin’,” Mickey mumbled, shaking his head weakly.

Turning to take hold of Mickey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, he turned the older man’s face to look at him. “Now, you’re smart enough to know that you can’t lie to me. I know you, and I know that you’re feeling down right now. So, talk to me about it, because otherwise you’ll end up overthinking yourself into a rut, and then you’ll never want the sex I was planning to treat you to tonight.” Seeing Mickey’s lips quirk defiantly of his original frown, Ian grinned and scruffed the dark locks. “Hey, there we go! Sex always make you laugh. Maybe I should be concerned by that reaction actually?”

“’Ey, don’t be stupid.” Shaking his head, the dark-haired man moved Ian’s hand from his chin to his cheek, leaning into it like a kitten eager for affection. “Nah, I just- it was hard today. Like, it brought back bad memories, but… it didn’t feel bad. And I think that worries me, that I enjoyed it, ya’ know.”

Nodding, Ian calmly asked “Do you want to? Do you have thoughts about it?”

“Nah. Fuck no, I’m my best I’ve been in a long time. Just hope it wasn’t a trigger, ya’ know?”

“I mean, you’re self-aware, so that’s good, I think. But what do you say we get on the phone to the insurance company Monday and see if we can get an appointment for you to talk it through? How’s that sound?” He cupped Mickey’s other cheek, stroking over his cheekbones as he looked into the glassy eyes of his fiancé.

After a deep inhale, Mickey nodded. “Yeah. Think it’d be good to talk through before the wedding and shit.”

“And that’s why I don’t think you need to worry, Mick. You’ve come so far. I’m really proud of you.” He pressed a kiss to the older man’s forehead, kissing his way down his nose and to his lips.

Leaning into the redhead, Mickey hugged Ian tightly as he whispered into his shoulder “You too, man.”

And before the pair could separate, the doorbell was ringing. “I got it,” Mickey said as he grabbed Ian’s wallet from where it sat on the console table in the hallway, paying the delivery woman for their food. Returning with a high pile of boxes, he asked, “Did you order enough food?”

“I couldn’t decide what I fancied when it came to sides. Got most of them.”

“Uh, yeah, I can see that!” The brunet laughed as he placed the food on the coffee table. “I’ll grab paper towels and plates ‘cause I’m guessin’ you got sticky wings in there.”

“Good idea!” Ian called behind his fiancé with a grin, already opening a box and pulling out a chicken finger.

*** * ***

“Happy birthday,” Mickey grinned, pressing a kiss to the redhead’s lips as he crept out from under the comforter, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Twenty-six,” he mused, “you’re basically fuckin’ old now!”

“Hey, shut it, you’re even older,” the birthday man responded, swatting at the top of his fiancé’s head. When Mickey went to protest, Ian tutted and pointed out, “And it’s my birthday, so you have to be nice to me!”

A cocky grin spreading across his lips, the brunet asked, “And what I just did, that wasn’t nice?” When the freckled cheeks flushed a little in response, the older man grinned and descended Ian’s body, mumbling about jogging his memory.

After a long morning of Mickey ‘being nice’ to the birthday boy repeatedly throughout different areas of their home, the pair went out to lunch and enjoyed a blissful afternoon perusing floral arrangements for the wedding and getting their suits fitted and on order. It wasn’t the day that Mickey had wanted for Ian, but he knew that his fiancé had been getting antsy about the wedding not being finalised and had said, when asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, “I want to plan my wedding with my fiancé and tick stuff off the list and then have a relaxed evening in.” Mickey had turned his nose up at the response but obliged, booking a table at their favourite steakhouse on the North Side as their only solid plan.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from suggesting to their friends that _they_ should do something outlandish and humiliating for Ian’s birthday later on that evening. That logic was what saw Ian and Mickey ‘relaxing’ on the couch when the doorbell rang, causing the redhead’s brows to furrow in question. And the hallway was suddenly a passing place for people to filter in past a grinning Mickey and enter the lounge as they cheered, blew party horns, and set off party poppers.

In with the crowd came crates of beers and bottles of various alcohol, a karaoke machine, a large speaker, and a pop-up surprise party that Mickey had been fully aware of. And Ian must have picked up on this when he clocked the relaxed, smug expression on his face because when he had finally managed to gravitate towards his fiancé, he had mumbled in his ear “I love you, but your ass is getting punished for this shit,” as he had pulled him into a hug.

It had been an enjoyable night, ending with a very-drunk Ian hollering into the microphone of the karaoke machine as he and Daya did a duet of _Don’t Go Breaking My Heart_ , the irony of the song choice lost to the pair that were too far gone. With most of their guests still having to work the next day (a Wednesday birthday was about as bad as they came), the party began to wind down around midnight, and a semi-sober Mickey worked on keeping his handsy fiancé upright and guiding him to bed.

“Fuckin’ hate you,” Ian mumbled as Mickey peeled the wobbly man’s shirt off over his head and slid the sweatpants down to his ankles, holding on to him as he attempted to step out of them.

“Mmm? Why’s that?”

“Threw a party. That’s naughty.”

Laughing softly under his breath, Mickey pointed out, “I didn’t. I just let the two-dozen people come in and host a party here.”

Pouting as he stumbled against the older man’s chest, the redhead was unsuccessful in trying to vacate his sweatpants. “Guilty.” Ian balled his fist and hammered it playfully against his fiancé’s firm chest. “Sentenced to a lifetime-” He hiccupped. “Lifetime with me.”

Righting the drunk man’s balance and guiding him to sit on the bed, the shorter pointed out “Pretty sure proposin’ to you already did that. It’s a terrible choice of punishment if I willingly chose it.”

“Okay, okay, okay…” A moment of thought as he stared up into the blue eyes. “New one. New one.” Hiccup. “Suck my dick. Whenever- whenever I want.”

“Damn, Gallagher, ya’ drive a hard bargain,” the dark-haired man mocked.

“Starting now.”

“Maybe you should get some-”

“Starting now!” Ian reiterated, hanging his head back deliberately as he attempted to raise his hips from the bed, his hands pressing into the mattress.

The crooked smile on Ian’s lips slipped into an ‘O’ when Mickey finally took his semi into his mouth and sucked him to full hardness, a hand trailing up and down his chest, occasionally pinching or tweaking a nipple as the other fondled his balls playfully.

The encounter was brief. Drunk Ian either came in seconds or didn’t come at all, and tonight was a case of the first scenario, with the more sober of the pair drawing his orgasm out as he pulled back with hollowed cheeks, sucking hard up to the ridge and finally flicking his tongue across the slit.

Sated, the redhead patted his fiancé on the head lightly and mumbled “Good slave,” as he laid back on the bed sleepily.

With a single chuckle, Mickey unhooked his partner’s boxers from around his ankles and used them to quickly wipe Ian off before stripping down to his own birthday suit and repositioning the dozing man on the bed correctly, slotting himself in behind him to hold him close. The alcohol-fuelled sleep was peaceful and persistent, with neither of the men rousing from sleep until late the next morning.

“ _Why?_ ” Ian groaned from where he knelt before the toilet, feeling each dry-heave grip at his stomach and squeeze hard right through to his throat.

“Because relaxin’s for old people,” was the response the older man had supplied as he entered the bathroom with a glass of water, kneeling down beside his fiancé to rub his back.

“I am old! I-” A belch echoed into the toilet bowl. “I _feel_ old right now!”

“Perks of the pills,” Mickey laughed as he continued to comfort the naked man who all but hugged the toilet in desperation. The only response from the redhead was another belch followed by a painful-sounding dry-heave. “I’ll go make a start on breakfast.”

“No. Nope. No.”

Chuckling, the shorter man stood up and headed for the bathroom door, calling back “The pills, man. The pills,” behind him.

Breakfast was forced on Ian’s part; neither youth nor being well accustomed to his current medication combination had afforded him an easy hangover in the past, and it seemed that getting older would not aid in any way either. Mickey noticed this, squeezing the ‘ailing’ man’s thigh as he struggled to stomach his food. “Hey, why don’t you catch a couple hours on the couch and I’ll go get groceries?”

Nodding Ian had forced three more forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth before scraping the remainder of the food into the bin and laying on the couch, turning on the Xbox as Mickey did the dishes.

Not five minutes later, Mickey was walking in to see Ian already dozing, an old episode of _Big Mouth_ playing to no audience. “I’ll see you later,” he whispered as he placed the throw from the back of the couch over Ian’s body and pressed a kiss to his forehead. The crude cartoon was turned off before the older man was heading out and travelling to the North Side.

As much as he was dreading the appointment, it was something he wanted to do for his own reasons, and so urged himself to finally turn off the engine and walk into the tattoo studio he had been at just over a week ago. He was a few minutes early, and Angelica was just explaining aftercare to another client as she wrapped a tall woman’s ankle, so he decided to sneak back out for a cigarette before the pain began. The cigarette seemed too short, gone before he had barely had a chance to smoke it, but maybe that was just the nerves.

The truth was that, sure, Mickey had a pretty high pain threshold, but it was the sensation that was putting him on edge. Getting his knuckle tattoos had been painful, but that was just a needle. This was a laser. It was essentially going to sear the faded remnants of the ‘FUCK U-UP’ tattoos from his skin, blistering the ink away. It would hurt more, but like a burning or scalding that went layers deep. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t want the cheesy, zoomed-in wedding photos of his and Ian’s hands together as they exchanged rings, and he most certainly didn’t want a childish mistake tarnishing those photos.

“Hey, Mickey,” Angelica greeted after seeing her last client out, “how are you feeling?” A non-committal grunt from the dark-haired man had the tattoo artist laughing before she was gesturing him to follow her to fill out a few forms and then head to a room separate from where he and Ian had sat before.

After cleaning his hands and gearing them both with appropriate protective wear, the blonde then took what appeared to be a giant hoover and explained how it would be cool air blown on his hands to minimise the pain. She was right, it was cold, and at one point made his fingers feel numb. But then came the fun part of the laser aspect of his tattoo removal. It wasn’t what he had expected, feeling no more painful than receiving the tattoos, but it was just kind of… different, more like someone persistently scratching a sunburn until it stung. Previous years of violence and dishing out beatings, though, meant that he wasn’t unfamiliar with knuckle pain. Throughout the procedure and repeated cooling and then wrapping of his hands, Mickey simply thought to how nice it would be to not be prematurely judged by seven letters and a hyphen, and how fucking awesome their wedding album would be.

Leaving the studio with a pamphlet on aftercare, medicated ointment, and an appointment card for his final session (“ _Perk of ten-year-old finger tattoos is that they’d probably already faded just a year after having them; these’ll be a piece of cake with two sessions if the ink breaks well!_ ”), Mickey trudged back to the car and drove in the direction of the store on his way home. It felt like leaving a part of his past behind, like he was managing to continue to grow into a newer, better person.

Later that evening, when Ian had finally been coherent enough to notice the dressings, he had been indifferent about a response to the removal of Mickey’s signature knuckles, simply saying “I wouldn’t’ve cared if you had your tattoos in our pictures.”

“It wasn’t just that. It was for me,” the older man began as he sat beside his partner on the couch, sipping lightly on a beer. “I don’t want our kid askin’ what ‘fuck’ means the minute they can read, or teachers lookin’ at me like I’m dangerous. They were like another scar – they said too much about the old me and not enough about the me now.”

Brows raised in question, Ian simply mused, “You still manage to surprise me, even after all these years.”

“Hmm?”

In response to the questioning hum, the redhead queried, “Kids?”

His heart skipped a beat. They had never spoken about their future past marriage, and it wasn’t something that had been mentioned too much in terms of what they wanted. Maybe Ian didn’t want children. Could Mickey see himself not having a child? He wasn’t sure. But he certainly couldn’t see himself without the lovable giant whatever his response to the question of “Don’t you?”

“Hadn’t considered it, if I’m honest. But… I wouldn’t dismiss it straight away. I just… hereditary.” He shrugged. “Never really thought about it after my diagnosis.” Ian’s face looked sullen, his eyes unable to hold his fiancé’s gaze fully.

Placing his beer on the coffee table, Mickey took one of Ian’s hands in his own, smiling as he said, “We can shelve it for now. No rush.”

“I love you, Mick.”

*** * ***

Waking up on the day of the wedding, Ian looked around his childhood bedroom and felt his stomach flutter with excitement. Sleeping alone in the old Gallagher home, waking to the sound of excitable, chirping children, hearing a clattering commotion in the kitchen, it all reminded him of just how far he’d come in life. No longer was he stuck sharing a room, working a crappy job and scamming to help chip money into a Crisco tin with Debbie’s doodles on it to keep the heating on; jumping from windows and sleeping with random people were simply past mistakes in Ian’s life.

No. Today was a world away from that life. With a plethora of mental, physical, and emotional growth under his belt, Ian was getting ready to marry his best friend and take a step into a new era of their lives together.

“Hey sweet-face,” Fiona grinned when Ian walked down the back staircase into the kitchen, sweatpants low on his hips. “Excited?” The brunette was almost bouncing as she handed her brother a cup of coffee and began to plate up eggs and bacon for him.

He took an eager mouthful of the drink before saying “I think I’m gonna’ shit my pants I’m so excited!”

“Don’t do that shit on the floor – I scrubbed it on Thursday!” Sean called from where he, Liam, and Hayley sat in the lounge, animatedly playing a board game.

The Gallagher siblings in the kitchen chuckled to themselves as Ian began to try and get some food in his system. Part of being stable and in control meant doing the stupid things like eating before he took his medication – he really would be shitting himself otherwise!

The rest of the morning up until Lip was arriving with the floral order seemed to go by in a blur, like a flash of medication, grooming, and dressing. The eldest Gallagher brother marched into the old bedroom with a large box in his arms as he hummed the Wedding March loudly. “There he is, the future Missus Mickey Milkovich!” The box was soon discarded on a bed as he pulled his brother into a bro-hug, clapping him on the back warmly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I need to be high,” Ian laughed, his eyes wide as everything became more real.

The sweet scent of the reddish-orange freesias that his and Mickey’s boutonnieres were made up of completely altered the smell in the room, hitting Ian’s senses like the moment they had walked into the florist. Mickey had been drawn to the bright flowers, saying they reminded him of Ian’s hair, and the decision was ultimately made when the woman who served them had advised that the red ones were for passion. They had decided on yellow ones for Lip and Rick’s boutonnieres and Daya and Mandy’s wrist corsages (with a small bouquet of them mixed in with some greenery being added to the order when Hayley’s eyes had lit up whilst sitting on her mom’s lap as she discussed her uncles’ wedding with them).

“You’re gonna’ feel high when the ceremony starts, I’m sure.” Lip had straightened out Ian’s bowtie before plucking a red freesia from the box and affixing it to his brother’s jacket, holding him at arm’s length after to take in his appearance. “A million bucks, man,” he mumbled with a warm smile. “Now, come on, we’ve got ten minutes before we need to leave.”

“Thanks, man,” Ian’s words were quiet as he felt his heartbeat begin to radiate throughout his entire body, every step after his brother sending tingling sensations up his legs.

Pulling up outside of the hotel that Mandy was part of the management team at, his stomach turned with nerves. He could see his future-husband and -sister-in-law standing just inside the foyer. And if Mickey didn’t take his breath away. The grey suit was the same as Ian’s but a few shades darker, and it hugged his muscular body too perfectly. As per usual, he was the master of the quiff, and that saw the raven hair (which was becoming flecked by the occasional grey) slick, neat, and looking red-carpet-ready. In short, his fiancé looked like he should be on the front of a _GQ_ magazine.

When Ian went to step out of the car, Lip caught his arm to stop him, meeting his eyes with warmth as he produced the lone red freesia from the box of flowers and gave it to him with a smile. “You go ahead,” he encouraged as he then moved to step out of the car himself, carrying the white box and allowing his brother the space to go to his partner.

“Wow, Ian” Mandy beamed as she noticed the redhead over her baby brother’s shoulder, looking a picture in the cream chiffon dress she wore.

And at the mention of the Gallagher boy, Mickey was turning eagerly, his lips parting in awe as he took in the younger man’s appearance, staring at the perfection before him.

“I’m gonna’ go help Lip,” the heavily-pregnant blonde promptly excused herself, squeezing Ian’s bicep briefly as she passed him, leaving the pair alone.

Clearing the short distance between them, Ian moved to attach the dark-haired man’s boutonniere, his hands shaking as excitement washed over him. “Hey,” he breathed softly when he had finally managed the buttonhole adornment.

“Hey, yourself,” Mickey smirked, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist to pull him in close and bow their heads together. “You look fuckin’ amazin’, man.”

Chuckling lightly, Ian retorted, “Have you not seen your ass in this suit? Or the rest of yourself, for that matter?”

“Let’s just agree that we’re the best-looking gay couple on the South Side.” Mickey moved to peck Ian’s lips softly. “Mandy said Karen’ll come get us when everyone’s sittin’ down, so we’re chill to hang out in the bar or the deck or whatever ‘til then.”

Passing a cigarette back and forth between themselves, the couple were mostly silent, with both men simply taking in the fact that this was all really happening and that in an hour they would be husbands.

“I still find it weird,” Ian mused as he brushed his fingers against the older man’s knuckles when taking the last end of the cigarette from his hand.

“What?”

He perched the smoke between his lips and spoke through it as he held Mickey’s ordinary-looking right hand in his own, examining it from all angles. “Hands.” Blowing the smoke through his nose, the redhead explained, “They’ve healed up so well. Barely even a trace. I think… it’s just weird because those hands have always been your hands.”

The dark brows furrowed in worry as his hand flinched within his partner’s hold. “You mad I did it?”

“No. No. Don’t be stupid. Not at all.” Shaking his head so quickly had caused the ash to drop on to the lapel of his jacket. “Fuck,” he hissed as he threw the stub to the floor and worked on brushing away the whiteish mark, being thankful for the lightness of the suit as he managed to clean the mess. “No.” There was a pause. Taking both of Mickey’s hands in his own, he continued, “I want you to do whatever makes you happy – I’ll support you one hundred percent. It just hasn’t fully sunk in yet, you know. Obviously, they were all blisters and scabs and redness for a while, so seeing them fully clear on our wedding day is just… I don’t think I expected it.” His fiancé’s face was thoughtful as he tried to take in Ian’s words. “But I’m glad, because I know it’s what you wanted.”

“What I want is you,” Mickey drawled, leaning forward to kiss the man sat beside him. “I want you, me, and maybe a stray of sorts.”

“A stray?”

“Yeah. Dog. Kid. One of the two, I ain’t fussy.”

Since they had first mentioned it, Mickey had always played it cool about children in any subsequent conversations, but the way his eyes lit up when he was with Hayley or Harriet (Debbie’s now-toddling baby) spoke millions to Ian. Whenever Mandy showed them sonogram pictures of the twins, he would stare at them with a dreamy look in his eyes.

Their latest conversation had seen Ian stating that he definitely didn’t want his genes going towards any child and risking it possibly suffering from Bipolar. And Mickey had nodded in agreement, saying that it was more than understandable, but he saw the slight sadness. Mickey had once mentioned wanting to see a kid with his fiery hair running around the house, so he knew that his decision had smudged that fantasy for his fiancé slightly.

“A stray kid?” Ian queried, an eyebrow raised in question at the peculiar phrasing.

“A kid from the system, ya’ know.” Mickey had been fidgeting with Ian’s engagement ring, twisting it around the digit absentmindedly.

They were interrupted by Mandy’s blonde, curly-haired colleague coming out on to the deck to tell them that everyone was ready for them.

Both hearts skipped a beat as their eyes went wide. Removing the engagement ring, Mickey slid it on to his fiancé’s right ring finger as he nodded and mumbled out a “Yep,” in response to Karen. He did the same with his own ring (Ian had bought him one not long after Mickey had gotten out of hospital for the last time) before asking “You ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s do this.” Ian squeezed the shorter man’s thigh before standing up and extending a hand to him.

*** * ***

Did Mickey cry during Ian’s vows?

Depends who’s asking.

Did Ian cry during Mickey’s vows?

Yes. Yes, he fucking did! The older man had seen it himself.

 _“Pretty much like when I proposed, I’m nervous as_ shit _right now. And when I proposed, I asked you ‘how do you tell someone how much you love ‘em? How do you tell ‘em they make your life worth somethin’? How do you tell someone that your world literally spins for them and that you wanna’ spend forever with ‘em?’. And I realised that the answer is you marry ‘em, and you don’t ever let ‘em go.” Looking up as he recalled his proposal, he saw that his fiancé’s eyes were misty and blinking quickly as the ginger man chuckled softly. “I said I didn’t know if I’d be here without you, and – aside from the fact that I wouldn’t be_ here _” – Mickey gestured his head to the minister – “if you hadn’t said yes, Mister Pedantic – I quite literally owe you my life.” His voice had cracked a little as he said the last part. He took a slow breath before continuing, blinking back his own tears before they could fall. “And I’m gonna’ spend the rest of it makin’ sure you understand that you_ are _my life.”_

_The redhead before him had wiped away a few tears with his thumb as the minister had indicated that he should say his own vows. “Oh, fuck, Mickey,” he sighed, crumpling his own cue card up and jamming it in his pocket, “you made my stuff sound like garbage, so I’m gonna’ freestyle this.”_

_Soft laughter rippled through the crowd as Mickey grinned, his tongue poking between his teeth._

_“I know I give you shit for it, but I have never loved you as much as I have listening to you quote some of the most… fucking amazing words you’ve ever said to me. And I feel everything you do. I feel like I can’t quite breathe when I’m not with you, like there’s a really important part of me missing.” Ian cleared his throat, smiling through watery eyes at his almost-husband. “Nothing about us is conventional; not the way we met…” They shared a glance with brief smirks. Nobody knew about their first sexual encounter but them and their old therapists at the institute, and that was what they both knew the younger man was referencing. “The fact that we were a couple of dudes who liked dudes in a neighbourhood of homophobes; that we were able to love each other before we could even love ourselves; or any of the shit we went through. But… conventional is boring. Since you came into my life, it’s… been anything but boring. It’s been the biggest, scariest rollercoaster of my life, but…”_

_Tears were openly flowing down Ian’s cheeks at this point as he clung to Mickey’s trembling hands. And Mickey was in the same position, sniffling shakily through the rest of the amazing man’s impromptu words._

_“I wouldn’t change a single part of it. Not one bit. I’d go through all of it again as long as I knew you were there at the end waiting for me. Because you always have been. If anything –_ anything _at all_ ­ _– went wrong, you were there to pick me up, clean me up, and build me up. My Bipolar isn’t easy, I know that, but you’ve never seen me as it, you’ve seen me for me. And in a world where people want to label us as ‘gay’ or ‘crazy’ or ‘fucked-up,’ you’ve always seen me as Ian. Growing up as the middle child of six, you get used to not being seen, but I feel like I’m honestly the only thing you see. And you’re all I see, too. In my memories, dreams, and my future.”_

_With a sharp sniff, Mickey asked, “Ya’ done showin’ me up?” He pulled a hand away from his fiancé’s hold to wipe his eyes, his chest tight with emotion._

_“Never. But I am for now.”_

As they walked from the dancefloor after their first dance to the bar, familiar faces were in sight, and Ian was nudging his arm, clearly having clocked their old friends. “I know, I can see ‘em! Jeez, you’re like a giant toddler,” Mickey laughed, knocking his head sideways against Ian’s shoulder.

“Congrats, guys,” Andy grinned as he pulled Mickey into a hug. It felt weird that the man was no longer his short, thin self, but now taller than him, a healthy weight, and sporting lilac hair. He had made it out of the hospital in time for his fifteenth birthday and had travelled in leaps and bounds, modelling with an agency that promoted individuals who had overcome self-harm. As Andy moved to engulf Ian, Mickey embraced his old roommates.

The five of them met up at least twice a year, usually on the fourth of July and sometime in the period between Christmas and New Year. And every time it was exciting to update the others on the goings-on of their lives and things to come. They had kept in touch over the first few years of leaving the hospital. Once Andy had finished school, they had arranged to make the regular trips to meet up and had done so for the past six and a half years. The difference this time was the presence of their friends’ plus ones.

After another year in the hospital and then a transfer to adult services, Jared was finally free of his past at the age of twenty and had gone into a construction job, where he ended up meeting his now-wife (she had been their project manager on his first site). Carrie was a pretty brunette with subtle highlights and a curvy figure, wrapped in a fitted silver dress, who they knew as being dominant enough to keep her husband in line when it was required. She stood with Andy’s best friend, Oliver (a slim man whom he had met through work; they house-shared together and were purely platonic, Andy always pointed out), and James’ girlfriend, Layla, who was all blonde hair, porcelain skin, and legs for days. They knew a lot about her, with her and James having been together for the last six or so years, they got regular updates about exciting milestones in her transition.

For a short while, the eight of them spoke easily, getting to know the new additions, until they were interrupted by Lindsay and Rick, who were breaking through their group to advise of shots that must be drunk ‘before they went bad’.

“We’ll see you guys later. Enjoy!” His husband smiled, excusing them from the throng.

“Missus Gallagher, you’re glowing!” Rick roared, wrapping his arms around his workmate and lifting him into the air briefly. “Mister Gallagher, handsome as ever,” the tall man grinned, pulling Ian into a bro-hug. “So, as Linds said, we’re doing shots to celebrate your marriage.”

“Yes! Yes!” Lindsay was bouncing up and down as she wrapped an arm around either groom’s neck and dragged them towards the bar uncomfortably. “You did it, guys! I said to become husbands before in-laws and you fucking did it! My boys!” The blonde was clearly a little further along in terms of drink than the guests of honour.

Mickey nodded, picking up a shot for himself and handing one to Ian. “We did!” He held the glass of mystery clear liquid (he was hoping vodka and not sambuca) up and toasted “To husbands, not in-laws,” his husband and workmates toasting afterwards, before knocking it back. His face turned sour. “Jesus, I fuckin’ hate you, Linds. You know sambuca makes me wanna’ vom’ after the second Christmas party.” His husband and best female friend laughed wickedly, earning a scowl from the grizzling man, before moving to another section of the bar.

“It’s okay, Mick, you and I’ll have big boy shots – leave the girls to giggle and gossip,” Rich laughed, clapping the dark-haired man on the shoulder as he pulled his wallet out and ordered two shots of Jameson. Rich toasted them with a “ _L’Chaim_ ,” leaving Mickey laughing after at the ‘ _chutzpah_ ,’ as Rich called it, that he had put into the Hebrew phrase. “It’s all in the throat, Mickey, my boy,” the lanky man simply responded with a wink.

“Will be later,” Ian’s chin was resting on Mickey’s shoulder with a smug smirk as he licked up Mickey’s cheek. “Face-licking. You give him more sambuca?”

Lindsay’s mock-innocent face was spoiled by Ian sputtering right next to his ear before holding up three fingers for his husband to see.

“Three more shots?” he queried. When his husband nodded on his shoulder (an odd sensation), the older man simply rolled his eyes and said “Be lucky if you can even get it up if this is your pace,” pressing a kiss against the redhead’s jaw, brushing his nose against it afterwards.

“You two are so sickeningly cute.” The tall mechanic laughed as he wrapped an arm around Lindsay’s waist (the pair had been friends with benefits for Mickey’s first year or so at Hank’s before eventually making a go of it). “We keep it classy over here.”

“Yeah, well, I bet that bitch bought four shots and made Ian do three of ‘em!”

He laughed briefly as he heard Lindsay lean up to Rich and stage-whisper “How did he know?”

“Of course, he’s gonna’ be more touchy-feely. And I’ve gotta’ reciprocate that shit because I want my dick suckin’ and my ass fuckin’ tonight!”

Mickey’s declaration had the other couple laughing as Ian purred into his ear, “I can do that for you, _baby_ ,” stroking his cheek as he giggled at the sarcastic term of endearment.

Before another word could be said, it seemed like the world around them slowed down. Suddenly there was a cry of “Call nine-one-one! Somebody call a fucking ambulance!” And the voice of the cry was his brother-in-law, screaming as he helped Mandy limp towards the door, her long, flowing dress showing red stains.

“Mandy? Mandy!” Ian seemed to have snapped out of the tipsy state, running the short distance alongside him to his pregnant sister. “Mandy, you okay? Lip, what the fuck’s happenin’?” His sister was crying as she allowed her brother to take her other arm around his neck to help her walk.

“Cramps on and off. But then she started bleeding and the cramps aren’t stopping,” Lip responded as they moved Mandy into the well-lit foyer and sat her down on a couch. Behind them, Ian could be heard reeling off the details of the hotel and telling them to hurry, advising that he was a paramedic and he would do what he could until they got there, the situation clearly sobering him up.

Once Mandy was seated, clenching at her stomach as she sobbed about her babies, Ian crouched down to speak to her and try to calm her down as he did some assessments, taking a pulse, feeling her stomach, questioning the pain rating and duration. He asked a few other things as Mickey accepted some towels from a concerned receptionist who had asked about an ambulance.

“On the way,” he grunted as he walked towards his husband to hand him the towels. “What’s wrong, Ian? Is she gonna’ be okay?”

“Baby’s still in place – which is good. But her uterus is rigid and contracted, and the pain location seems like it could be a placental abruption. Not ideal, but she’s far enough along that it shouldn’t be problematic for her or the babies given they’ve done enough growing.” He looked to Lip, “How far along is she again?”

The brunet continued to soothe his girlfriend as he advised that she was thirty-six weeks along exactly. Watching what was happening, Mickey felt helpless. He wasn’t trained like Ian, he couldn’t assist with anything in that department, and she wouldn’t want more than Lip by her side and end up being crowded. It felt as though all he could do was stand and watch with a worried expression and fear tight in his chest.

When the paramedics arrived and began loading his sister on to the gurney, his husband was reeling off all of his observations and suspected diagnoses, his manner calm and collected. As soon as Mandy and Lip were loaded up and the ambulance racing off with its sirens blaring and lights flashing, the off-duty paramedic was encircling his husband in his arms briefly. “Come on, Sean’ll drive us,” he said before jogging off to find the aforementioned man. In the car, Mickey pulled at the cuffs of his suit jacket and wrung his hands in his lap, fidgeting the entire car ride as Ian softly consoled him, holding him and whispering that she was strong and they would be fine. “Milkoviches are fighters, you know that,” he had reassured him.

Once at the hospital, time seemed to go into hyper-speed, with Mickey not understanding what was going on for the two hours that they waited until Lip appeared from another room and was explaining what was going on to them, his hands shaking in his lap.

“You were right, man, placenta tore away. They did an emergency c-section. Umm, she lost a lot of blood – went into shock – but she’s hooked up on a transfusion and should wake up later on. Babies are okay, but they’re monitoring them ‘cause they’re small, ya’ know.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They said they should all be fine, just a little delicate, but… they’re all okay.” Lip leant into the hug that his brother pulled him into, rubbing a hand up and down his back in comfort.

It was a relief to know that his sister was okay, but the fear of it all had been terrifying. And Mandy still wasn’t awake. But she was okay. Lip had said so, which meant a doctor had said so. He had been on the end of extreme blood loss himself, and he knew that hospitals knew how to treat it and that she would recover from it. But the thought of the possibility of losing his sister made him sick to his stomach. It was almost too far to the trashcan to empty the contents of his stomach; a little had come over the edge, but, for the most part, he had managed it. The familiar large hands of his husband were soothing his back as he vomited once more before pulling back and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket (it was a good job it wasn’t a rental).

“She’s okay, Mick. They all are. Lip said we can go and see the twins.” The redhead’s words were positive as he half-smiled.

Mickey nodded and went to get himself a cup of water from the dispenser before following his husband to where his brother-in-law was waiting to lead them to see their nieces or nephews.

As they stood at the glass of the N.I.C.U. ward, Lip pointed to two incubators, where a pink hat was visible in one and a blue one in the other. There were tubes and wires attached to the babies, and it pulled at his insides, but Mickey clapped the older man on the shoulder, nevertheless, offering a small “Congrats.”

“Thanks, man. I’m gonna’ go grab a smoke and see if there’s any update on Mandy, I’ll let you know.” Lip offered a smile before turning to walk away, leaving Mickey and Ian to stare in at their nephew and niece.

When Ian’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, Mickey sagged into the warmth, exhaling slowly with exhaustion. The younger man must have felt this because he held him tighter, pressing a kiss to his temple as he whispered quietly, “She’s okay. Babies are okay. And we’re married.”

“Fuck. We are. Is it bad that I almost forgot about that with everythin’?” Turning to face his husband, Mickey leant up to press a kiss to his lips, brushing their noses together as he held the redhead’s waist. “I fuckin’ love you, man.”

“That’s good, then, because you’re stuck with me, Mick.”

Reaching up to cup Ian’s stubbly cheek, he simply explained, “‘Stuck’ suggests I’m trapped. Anythin’ but when I’m with you.”

*** * ***

**For reference:**

Ian's left arm

Ian's right arm

Mickey's left arm

Mickey's right arm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: scars, needles, implied thoughts of self-harm, blood, pregnancy complications,


	4. Step Four: Appreciating What You Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I feel on top of the world, Mick, and I don’t think I’ll ever come down.”
> 
> Chuckling, smoke puffing out with each rumble of his chest, Mickey joked, “That’s the post-sex endorphins. Wait ‘til we get to Fiona’s and you’ll re-evaluate life again.”
> 
> “No. I’m serious, Mickey, I couldn’t ask for anything else in the world.”
> 
> The older man leant his head on to his husband’s shoulder, letting out a breath of smoke. “I feel that, man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s over. It’s actually insane. Writing this series has been a rollercoaster of emotion. I started On Top of the World in 2015 when I was in a rough place (I had been ditching my uni classes, just hiding back at my parents’ rather than staying in halls and getting drunk to not feel), and it stopped for a while. I picked it up around 2018 to edit and then life got shit again and I don’t actually think you guys really got anything extra from me, but I’d written up to chapter thirty-five at that point. And then the end of November 2019 happened (again, life was dog shite), and I began to enjoy writing and I flew through that story. I think it kind of shows because from then chapters got longer and I think my writing style changed a little and I fell back in to swing of things properly. I actually finished it. And then I wrote a sequel. And I finished that too. And then I did that again. 
> 
> Here we are, seven months after I properly picked this series up (which wasn’t even planned to be a series at that point), and I smashed it. Writing this series and being able to finish it has given me a few things:
> 
> 1\. An escape from life when I didn’t want to live it.  
> 2\. A purpose. Because people wanted to know what happened next and so did I! You guys and your comments, kudos, etc. honestly helped me to get to the point where I’m posting this chapter.  
> 3\. The confidence in my writing and the narrative voice I use to actually try and work on some original fiction again and see what I could do with that.
> 
> So, from the bottom of my cold, black heart, thank you to every person who stuck with this series, the people who commented after years of inactivity and gave me the kick up the arse I needed, and to anyone who has ever chanced wasting their time to take a look at my writing. The feedback I received was amazing, and I honestly can't thank you all enough for it!
> 
> Remember, as a writer, hits, comments, etc. are crazy motivating, and the exclusion of non-logged-in user hit counts is noticeable. I can guarantee I'm not the only writer on here noticing the drop and feeling the little slump that it gives you. So I would 100% encourage any of the non-users reading to request an account invitation and encourage any other non-users to do the same. And to obviously log in if you do have an account. And regardless, anyone reading is appreciated and I hope that you are all keeping safe :)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy and let me know what you thought or send me a prompt or smth on Tumblr - thebestpartofthecarrotcostume.
> 
> Stay peachy, folks!

“What do you mean you can’t get here until three tomorrow? The party starts at two, Mickey. Fucking two!”

“Because it’s my wedding anniversary? And I have plans for it?” Mickey’s tone was deadpan. It was almost baffling that he was having to explain to his sister that he was going to celebrate his first wedding anniversary with his husband. Having crashed his wedding reception to go full-on ‘Blood Elevator’ scene from _The Shining_ and everything, one would think she might remember that the day held two celebrations.

“And? It’s your niece and nephew’s _first birthday_!”

“Yeah, and they’ll have many fuckin’ more!”

Ian was gliding past where Mickey stood in the kitchen talking on the phone and called down the line “We’ll see what we can do, Mandy,” before heading into the yard for a smoke.

Mickey hung up the phone when his sister began to go on about why Ian was her favourite brother, then rounding on Ian with a frown. “You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” he grunted, snatching the lit cigarette from the freckled fingers and taking a long drag. “If we bend over once, she’ll expect us to do it every fuckin’ year!” Exhaling smoke through his nose, the older man scowled as he returned it to his husband, playfully snatching it back for good measure before giving it up.

“I know. But you know that you’d kick yourself for missing a minute of it – you fucking love those kids,” Ian pointed out through a plume of smoke. “I’ll call and see if we can bring the appointment forward, okay?”

His husband was right. Jamie and Jenny were such a big part of his life; he would willingly die or kill for them.

_The minute Mandy put little Jamie in his arms and the weight of the small child fussing registered, he felt his heart swell. The kid was warm, squishy, and noisy as he wailed in Mickey’s arms._

_“Bounce him,” Mandy prompted, smirking as she watched her brother look so lost in the child’s face._

_“Yeah. Umm, yeah.”_

_The pride he felt when he had managed to calm the crying child made him all the more sure of the fact that he wanted to be a dad. Caring for somebody else felt so natural. Growing up in a family without love and affection, he had always tried to care for others. When they were younger, he had always watched out for Mandy, making sure she was safe and protected. And then when Mandy was old enough to care for herself, he had still cared for her where she would allow it (and when she wouldn’t if boys were involved). Going into the hospital that second time had then brought Ian into his life; a perfect human from a large family who was more than willing to accept the love and affection that Mickey had to offer and reciprocate._

Rolling his eyes, Mickey nodded once. “Fine.”

*** * ***

“That… wow…” Ian gasped, leaning his head against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, his breaths broken and ragged.

Beginning to massage soap suds into his husband’s lower back, Mickey hummed in agreement, mumbling out a small “Yeah.”

“Happy anniversary, Mick.” Turning, the taller of the couple draped his arms over the dark-haired man’s shoulders and leant forward to press a delicate kiss to his lips. “I fucking love you,” he whispered before pulling away.

“You too, man. Now, come on, we need to hurry if we’re gonna’ make breakfast before the appointment.” He grinned wide, his tongue poking through his teeth in that adorable way that it did when he was excited or being cheeky.

As they exited the car and looked at the large brick building before them, Ian gave Mickey’s hand a firm squeeze before jerking his head for them to head in. The familiar noise that erupted from the home and engulfed them when they were welcomed in always sent shivers up Ian’s spine. Maybe it was because with every visit to the home they were one step closer to taking their future child home.

Trying to adopt had been a long process, there was no other way to put it. But after months of applications, interviews, parenting classes and educational sessions, Ian and Mickey were finally going to be taking home the young girl they had met on several occasions before.

Walking through to the manager’s office, there was some final paperwork to be filled out after formalities were exchanged before the home advised their new daughter that her daddies had arrived. And then the whole house knew that they had arrived. Annabelle was a six-year-old bubbly girl who had instantly latched on to the couple during their first visit. She was a pale girl with strawberry blonde hair and thin-wired glasses that sometimes slipped down her nose.

“Dads here! Dads here! Dads here!” Her distinctive voice echoed through the home. “Going home! New home!”

Stepping out of the office, Ian was almost tackled by the young girl bounding into him and flinging her arms around his stomach, pressing her face into the fabric of his shirt as she inhaled deeply. “Ian!” She looked up to him with an enormous grin as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up.

“Annie! How are you today, sweetie?” He asked as he turned so that she could reach her hands out towards his husband.

“Happy. Come home with you.” The cheesy grin didn’t once falter as she was received by her other new father and was stroking his cheeks. “Mmmmm-icky!”

“Hey, princess,” the dark-haired man greeted, scrunching his nose as she booped it before almost booping her own.

She wasn’t actually booping, though. Anabelle had Down’s Syndrome, and one of the characteristics of her condition was that she was hyposensitive, meaning the information that her brain received through her five senses was often weaker than a neurotypical person would. A care specialist in Down’s Syndrome (they had had a few sessions with a specialist once they had made an attachment with her and decided that she was the one they wanted to adopt) had advised them that she believed Annabelle tried to provide additional sensory information for her brain to fully comprehend her surroundings. This was often done by smelling and touching more than usual, hence the boop that wasn’t a boop. It was actually something that both men found made for a more intense connection.

Getting Annabelle out of the house was an easy task, with her skipping to the car alongside Ian, giggling happily. Getting her belongings to the car, however, was not as easy. Unlike whenever Mickey or Ian had been in care and only ever had minimal belongings, Annabelle’s long stay in the care system had led to her amassing a lot of cuddly toys in particular, among her other belongings, and she would not part with a single one. When Mickey had gone to place the bag in the boot beside her suitcase and other bags, she had protested, saying they needed to sit with her. Once the bag was on the back seat, she was unclipping her seatbelt to pull the bears and dolls out of the bag and place them all in a row beside her booster seat, positioning them systematically. Watching the display had both men gushing silently.

“Okay, are we all ready to go now?” Ian asked as he turned the ignition on.

“Belt first!” Annabelle cried out as she shuffled herself back into place and clicked her seatbelt in. “Weady now!”

On the drive home, Anabelle spoke about how excited she was to meet all of her new family as Mickey was leaning over his seat to show her pictures from family get-togethers on his phone, explaining who was who every time she poked a new face on his screen. “I want see them!” She declared, smiling ear to ear.

“We thought you might,” Ian said as he flicked on his blinker to turn on to their street. “We wondered if you wanted to come to a party with us to meet them.”

“Party?” The excitement on her face was precious as her eyes lit up and her mouth dropped into a small ‘O’.

“Yes. It’s Jamie and Jenny’s first birthday today.”

“Party!” The small girl was almost vibrating in her booster seat as she bounced excitedly at the prospect of a party and meeting everyone.

Pulling up on their driveway, Ian reached across to squeeze the other man’s thigh, smiling at him excitedly before turning to look at Annabelle’s beaming face. “We’re here, sweetie.” His heart fluttered as he watched her blue, almond-shaped eyes go impossibly wide and glisten with glee, as though asking ‘really? Are you sure?’. He smiled wider and nodded in assurance. 

Ian stood back as his husband walked their daughter into the house, grinning at how perfect Mickey looked with the small child gripping his hand and gazing up to him like his words held the answers to the universe. As he loaded her cuddly toys into the bag, he could hear Annabelle’s gasping and giggling from inside and felt euphoric knowing that those sounds of joy and happiness were going to be the permanent soundtrack to their lives.

Carrying the final bags containing Annabelle’s belongings into the house, Ian found the pair waiting outside the closed door that was previously their spare room. And on the door were wooden letters painted in pastel colours that spelt out its new owner’s name.

“We waited for ya’. Figured you’d wanna’ come see it with us,” Mickey explained, cheeks tinged pink as he offered a small smile.

“Yeah. See my new woom!” Annabelle’s toothy grin stared up at Ian as he placed the two bags he had brought in beside the door. “Go in now?” She asked with hopeful eyes, looking between Ian and Mickey. When she received a nod from the shorter man, she pulled her hand away to twist the knob and open the door, her face lighting up even more as the bright room welcomed her.

She had told the couple during a previous visit with her that yellow was her favourite colour, so they had painted a very large sun rising from one corner of the largest wall and had painted sections of blue over the originally-white walls to create clouds in the sky. The white day bed had a yellow canopy that hung from the ceiling and encircled it, with soft white fairy lights wound about the metal framework of the bed; the chest of drawers had ornaments which would help with sensory issues such as snowglobes, a lava lamp, and a small speaker so that they could put soothing music on. Beside the wardrobe sat a huge toy chest which they had had built and personalised on commission, and this was the focal point for the young girl once she had stared around the room in awe and then squealed excitedly. Squeezing past her parents, she grasped the handles of the bag that held her stuffed toys and brought it in, beginning to lay them all out on the floor, sorting through them and placing some in the chest and others sitting against it.

The pair were more than contented to simply stand at the doorway and watch their daughter unpack what seemed to be an important aspect of her life into the room and make herself at home.

* * *

“I’m gonna’ go make some snacks to keep her going ‘til the party, okay?” Ian said after a few minutes, squeezing the older man’s hip affectionately.

“Sure, I’ll see if she wants to help unpack some clothes and stuff.” As Ian turned to walk away, Mickey quickly hooked a finger in the belt loop of the taller man’s jeans and pulled him back for a kiss, smiling into the simple exchange before he let him leave. “Hey, Annie, do ya’ wanna’ help me put some of your clothes away when you’re finished sorting your dolls?”

“No. You do it.” The fair girl replied, her attention focused on her toys.

“And are there some manners there?” Having grown up in a household that had not encouraged manners or politeness and learning that said behaviour was mostly not accepted by others, he was sure as hell going to raise a polite child himself.

Turning to look at the dark-haired man with a cheesy grin she chirped, “Please!”

“Sure thing, princess,” Mickey ran a hand through her light curls as he walked past her to bring in her suitcase and a bag, placing them on the bed to sort through. Once her dolls were arranged, she began to play with them, animating their conversations in high-pitched voices as she lifted them into the air and shook them to indicate who was speaking. As Mickey began to sort her clothes into piles he asked, “Which dolly is your favourite?”

The doll that was in Annabelle’s right hand was raised in the air as she shook it for emphasis. “This one.” Looking at the mermaid with yellow woollen hair, he queried her name. “His name Lucy.”

“Her, Annie. Girls are hers.” He remembered that they had been advised that Annabelle struggled with her pronouns and that they should encourage her to use the correct ones without making too much of a fuss.

“Her name Lucy,” the young girl corrected, giggling as she made the doll soar through the air.

“Is Lucy a princess mermaid?”

“Yes. Her has plincess crown and plince husband.”

Beginning to hang items in the wardrobe, Mickey smiled to himself, exhaling contentedly. “Who’s her husband?”

“Plince Jim.” And presumably, Prince Jim was now being waved in the air. She then made the two married dolls kiss, squshing their faces together and making exaggerated ‘mwah’ noises.

Gosh, she was just too adorable for words. Mickey remembered the first time they had met her and how they had both left thinking those exact same words.

_Going into the care home for the first time felt overwhelming as their ears were bombarded by noise, something quite different from what they were used to experiencing at home. But this was what they both wanted; Ian had actually been the one to raise the subject post-wedding._

_After a brief discussion with the care home manager about their intentions and preferences, they were then taken through to the yard where a number of children were playing on swings and running around the yard yelling ‘tag’. Clearly, the children were used to prospective parents coming to the home to meet them because some (those who weren’t hopeful of being reunited with their parents, Mickey assumed) began to swarm about them, introducing themselves and offering up their cheesiest smiles._

_When all of the children had finished introducing themselves and giving reasons for they would be the perfect son or daughter, the couple began to walk towards the house to meet some other children, not wanting to decide impulsively. As they entered the building, a small, fair girl, who had been standing at the glass doors looking out, had tugged on the tail of Ian’s shirt to exclaim “Your hair like mine!”_

_“Yeah, it is, sweetie,” Ian agreed, bending his large stature down to her level, “but yours probably has less greys in it than mine does!”_

_The young girl was giggling something wicked at Ian’s words. His husband took to the young girl so naturally, not at all taken aback by her different appearance or evident speech impediment like Mickey was. For a while, he was unsure of how to speak to her or if he even wanted to. But then the young girl was pointing to him and asking Ian “What hers name?”_

_“That’s Mickey. He’s my husband.” The ginger man cast a glance at him and then back to the young girl before stage-whispering “He’s a little shy!”_

_“Mmmmm-icky. My name Annabelle.” She smiled, reaching an arm out to him._

_He shook her hand – at least, he thought that was what she wanted – and smiled as he said a soft “Hi.”_

_“You here for me? Take me home?” She looked up between the pair with big, questioning eyes that were tucked behind glasses. “I been here ages. Nobody want me.”_

Oh fuck _, Mickey’s heart shattered at her words. He looked to his husband to see the green eyes held the same feeling of heartbreak. He raised his brows high, unsure of what to tell the little girl._

_“We’re here to meet everyone at the minute. Do you think you could be our very special tour guide and introduce us to everyone?”_

_The blue, bespectacled eyes lit up as she grinned widely, nodding. She reached out to take one of Ian’s hands and one of Mickey’s, guiding them through the home and taking them to personally meet each person that they passed or could see, staff and residents alike. Each new person was named and had a peculiar fact about them given:_

_“This Rhea, she has baby in her tummy.”_

_“Billy angry. He shout at staff, make them sad.”_

_“Charlie and me go s’imming at pool, he help me. He my best friend.”_

_“Ella is booniful girl with booniful blonde hair. I like Ella’s hair.”_

_Every introduction had the men’s insides becoming progressively more goo-like, both regularly exchanging glances with the other and communicating silently._

_When it came to leaving, Mickey asked the manager if they could come back the following weekend when they had had a chance to talk and discuss. The greying woman nodded and asked for a time to pencil them in, doing so before seeing them out. Walking out of the office, Annabelle was standing patiently, running her finger over the paint of the doorframe until the couple came out._

_“Coming back?” She asked, her face brimming with an innocent hopefulness._

_Ian smiled as he confirmed, “Yeah, next weekend. Will we see you again?”_

_She grinned and nodded her head enthusiastically. “Yes. Maybe… I show you my woom next week.”_

_“We’d like that.” The dark-haired man’s lips pulled high as he chuckled lightly. He was taken aback when she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly._

_“See you next weekend, Mmmmm-icky.”_

_He rubbed her back as he returned the farewell. She then bade Ian farewell similarly before following them to the door with a member of staff who would let them out, waving at them excitedly as they left the building, both thinking how adorable the little girl was._

“Annie, what do you think about this dress for the party?” Mickey asked once he had finally packed away her clothes, holding up a floaty, chiffon dress in pastel pinks, greens and purples that they had bought once they had realised that she would be coming home on the day of the party.

The pair had toyed back and forth with whether or not they should take her to the party so soon or give her time to adjust. And Mickey had reminded Ian of how forward and outgoing she had been when she had all but collared the younger man in the care home. It had been a very reasonable point that had brought Ian round to the idea that they would propose the party to her and see how she reacted and play it by ear (“ _Okay, but we gotta’ get her a cute dress_ just in case _. Her wardrobe ain’t the fanciest!_ ”).

“Oh, my God, like a plincess dress.” Annie looked at the colourful garment, standing to reach forward and touch the fabric, stroking it against her cheek. “Wear it now?”

“Daddy made some snacks, so let’s go eat those first so we don’t make it dirty, okay?” There was a frown beginning to form on Annabelle’s face as she stared up at him. “Princesses can’t be dirty, can they?” This softened the frown a little and earned an indifferent shrug. “Come on then, let’s go check on those snacks then!”

*** * ***

“Honestly, your kids couldn’t just let me have a wedding. Nah, they _had_ to steal the show. Honestly, they’re _so_ your kids!”

Ian was chuckling and rolling his eyes at the words that his husband had used when his sister-in-law had answered the door with a confused expression. “Hey, Mandy,” he greeted more politely than his partner.

“Hi, guys. Who… who is this little cutie?” The blonde woman asked, waving at where Annabelle stood shyly, gripping Ian’s hand and clutching her mermaid doll in the other.

“This is Annie. I… sorta’ think you should let us in now. Might make more sense.” The dark-haired man grinned as he spoke.

With a brow arched in question, Mandy stepped back to allow the three of them into the house where they could see the twins in their playpen, babbling between themselves.

As they walked through to the kitchen, following behind the slim woman, Annabelle’s question of “What his name?” as she pointed to the blonde had her dads laughing to themselves.

“That’s your Aunt Mandy,” Mickey answered, his cheeks flushing as the woman in question stopped and abruptly turned on her heel, her face the picture of shock and surprise. “Meet your niece!”

“Mmmmm-andy.” Annabelle smiled cheesily before letting go of Ian’s hand to pinch the edges of her dress and curtsey, her tiara slipping from her head and clattering to the floor in the process (she had insisted on wearing the plastic tiara to the party, saying that people wouldn’t know she was a princess if she didn’t).

“Oh, my God, you are the cutest little princess ever, Annie!” Mandy bent down to pick up the plastic headpiece and reposition it on her new niece’s head with a toothy smile. “Do you wanna’ come with me to meet your Uncle Lip?” She extended a hand in invitation. “Your dolly can come too.” The little girl’s face lit up and she nodded, accepting the hand and allowing her aunt to lead her out to the yard to meet Lip.

It wasn’t long before the twins were no longer confined to their (admittedly spacious) playpen and were soon in the arms of Ian and Mickey, both giggling and babbling away excitedly. Mickey was swooping Jamie through the air as Ian held a very serious conversation with Jenny.

“So, birthday girl, I need to be real with you. Annie is your new cousin, and I know it’s a little weird because she’s a big girl and you’re only little even though you’ve been here for longer, but you are both gonna’ be my best girls, okay?” As he spoke, he was trailing a finger up her pudgy little legs and arms and then booping her nose and tickling her tummy. The whole time, the little brunette girl was giggling and shaking her head excitedly. “So, do we have a deal?” When he held a hand out and prompted a high-five, Jenny did so and squealed in celebration. “I knew there was a reason you were one of my best girls.” The ginger man grinned, popping a wet kiss-turned-raspberry on her forehead.

“Umm, Ian?” Mandy’s voice carried through from the kitchen. When he looked up, she was walking back into the lounge, his daughter still in tow. “Lip asked if you could help him with the barbecue?”

“Sure.” Green eyes looked widely at Mickey, communicating unease as he placed his niece back into her playpen and then headed to the yard, scruffing his daughter’s hair affectionately in passing.

As soon as he clocked his brother, Lip’s eyes and posture were almost yelling before he could.

“Hey.” Ian waved awkwardly before stuffing his hands into his pockets, waiting for the tirade fo judgement to come.

“Got a kid, huh?” Lip popped another firelighter into the barbecue before tossing in a match as he spoke.

“Yeah. Yep. Picked her up this morning. Been planned for about a month now.”

Turning away from the charcoal for a minute, the brunet asked, “You know kids are hard work, right?”

“Yeah. I helped raise the younger ones as much as you. Remember?” Ian’s tone was icy, daring his brother to speak his mind and see what he’d get in response.

“Hey. What the fuck? I’m just saying.” The metal poker was discarded. “It’s just… normal ones are hard enough. Why… why make it harder for yourself and get a kid with Down’s?”

_Choosing to adopt Annabelle had brought many a serious discussion up between the couple._

_“What about school? Will she need to go to a special one? Will we be able to afford that?”_

_“Are we gonna’ be able to handle her? I looked it up and there’s so much more to it than just being overly-friendly and sweet.”_

_“Are we the best people to be taking in a special needs kid?”_

_And each question had ultimately been answered by one realisation: nobody else would, and then she would remain stuck in a care home as she had since she was four. She had been given up at birth and bounced between foster carers until they struggled for a placement and she was brought into the home that she was currently in two years later. They would be the ones to remove her from that lifestyle._

“First of all, fuck you, you asshole! And second, maybe if you put your fucking narrow-minded views aside and got to know her then you’d understand why we adopted Annie.” Lip’s attempts at explaining himself had been a wasted effort as Ian stormed back towards the house. Once inside, he was mumbling in his sister-in-law’s ear “Was he an ass to her when you took her out?”

Shaking her head, the blonde replied, “No, just a little shocked, but he went with it,” as she stood back to watch Mickey and Annabelle fussing over her children. “Why? What did he say?”

“Basically asked why I didn’t get a ‘normal’ kid.” The younger man was shaking with anger, flinching when Mandy placed a hand on his shoulder and said that she would talk to him. Too filled with rage, Ian didn’t even take in how gentle and loving Annabelle was with the twins, nor how excited she got when other members of their family began to filter into the house and frown at the small girl in question.

He quickly intercepted them before questions could be asked, simply giving the explanation “Annie, our daughter. Yes, she has Down’s. No, it’s not a problem like Lip seems to think it is.” And each time he would then leave his family member before they could comment further, returning to his husband and daughter.

Annabelle asking “Why you sad?” had him taken aback.

Before answering, he briefly glanced at Mickey to be met with raised brows. “I’m not sad, sweetie. Daddy just has a headache, that’s all.”

Lips pulling down into a frown of sorts, the curly-haired girl wiggled a finger, gesturing Ian to bend down, and pressed a kiss to his forehead with a loud ‘mwah’. “I kiss it better for you,” she whispered softly.

“Ian?” Fiona stood back as she interrupted the trio. When Annabelle’s big, blue eyes turned towards the brunette, his older sister introduced herself. “Hi! You must be Annie. I’m your Aunt Fiona.”

The interaction between Fiona and Annabelle was what Ian had wanted for his daughter with every member of his family, and yet he couldn’t see anything past blind rage at Lip’s words. And, of course, his sister knew this because she ushered him through the house to sit on the front porch with her, lighting up a cigarette and passing it to him as she began to speak.

“Lip is an idiot, Ian. I mean, no, in all fairness, he’s an absolute fucking genius. And I think that almost makes him think that everything that comes out of his mouth is perfect and so he doesn’t filter it, he just lets it fly out into the world without patting it down and checking for weapons first.” She pinched the cigarette from between his lips with a quirk of her eyebrows, taking a drag before handing it back. The smoke seeped from her nostrils lazily as she continued speaking. “You know as much as I do that Lip doesn’t think that Annie is a problem; he actually said she’s really fucking sweet, but you wouldn’t know that because you haven’t let him close enough to say a word.”

Even at twenty-seven years old, a ‘mom talk’ from his older sister still managed to make him feel small and push him towards reason. She knocked his knee playfully, her lips pulled to the side. Ian sighed lowly, a cloud of smoke puffing in front of him, as he shrugged noncommittally. “He’s just such an entitled asshole sometimes. Does he not realise that we know there are a lot of neurotypical kids out there up for adoption? Like, we know that – we saw them. But… Annie’s just different. I can’t even explain it, Fi. But… he just _saw_ that she was different and had to have an opinion. He couldn’t even say ‘I’m happy for you,’ or ‘congrats, bro’.”

“Because he worries about you. Lip always remembers all of…” The brunette’s mouth twisted in a peculiar shape as she looked for the correct phrasing, “it, and he always worries. We both know a few facts without having a Ph.D., though. We know that stress can sometimes exacerbate your Bipolar. We have… more than enough practical experience to know that raising kids is stressful. And we know that Down’s Syndrome can be a walk in the park one minute and then a hike up Everest the next. Lip just saw a possible trigger and forgot about the positives; he ignored the fact that adopting Annie makes you happy.

“Raising you kids was hell, I won’t lie, but… it was the best fucking thing I did. I wouldn’t change any of it, Ian. Never. Not for all the money and freedom in the world, I wouldn’t. Because you all turned out great despite the odds.” She paused, running a hand through her curls. “Obviously, to us, it all seems real out of the blue because you guys kept it a secret – which is totally fine and understandable – but that probably raised red flags for him, too, you know. His heart’s in the right place, even if his words aren’t. Just… don’t let his shitty word choice create a rift between you two.”

The younger Gallagher sibling sighed, flicking the stub of the cigarette away blindly. Looking to his sister, Ian asked, “Do the words of wisdom come with parenting experience, or were they always there for you?”

“You just kinda’ learn what the right shit is to say.” Wrapping an arm around the redhead, Fiona pulled her brother against her shoulder and pressed a kiss into his hair. “You’ll find the right shit to say, you always do.”

Returning to the party, Ian was met with a questioning look from his husband from where he stood with their daughter, Carl, and his fiancée (he would later find out that the latter had been teaching him to plait hair). The weak smile he managed to offer probably looked more like a grimace, but it would have to do until he spoke to Lip.

“Hey, man,” Ian rubbed at the back of his neck as he stood behind his brother, “you got a minute?”

A wave of relief seemed to pass over the older man’s face as he nodded, putting a hand on his girlfriend’s hip as he excused himself. He then gestured for Ian to follow him, leading him through to his and Mandy’s room to speak in private. They both sat on the end of the bed, an uncomfortable silence unfolding between then.

“Umm, I didn’t…” Lip cleared his throat, looking at every corner of the room before he finally met his brother’s eyes. “Nothing about our family is normal, so I think Annie’s gonna’ fit in great.”

“I know that’s your attempt at trying to apologise – and I know that’s hard for you – but you need to understand that Annie isn’t her Down’s, she’s just a little girl who needed two parents to give her a good family and a great chance at life. Mickey and me are gonna’ do that. And we’d love it if you could be her favourite uncle; between Carl, Liam, and Iggy, you are one hundred percent the best influence!” Fidgeting with the hem of his shorts, Ian exhaled softly before continuing. “But I need you to understand that she’s just a kid – my _daughter_ , actually – and not a chore, or a trigger, or any of that crap. She’s just one of the most important people in my life. And, like Mickey, she will come before you if you can’t accept her for who she is.”

Lip’s brow was furrowed as he allowed Ian to speak. When his brother seemed to have finished speaking and stared at the door, waiting for him to respond, he spoke softly. “Ian, I just worry about you, but… you’re not a kid any more. You’re still my little brother, though, and I’ll always have your back. If you’re ready for it, then I’m happy for you, man.” There was a short pause before the older man asked with a hopeful tone “Bring it in?” After receiving a half-smile and a nod, Lip initiated an embrace between the pair.

Missayings were forgiven and the Gallagher men were back on the same team.

*** * ***

The first month of Annabelle settling into her home and adjusting to the new life was difficult at times. On her first night, they had been awoken by a banging sound and had found Annabelle trying to move the furniture in her room, mumbling “Not my room,” repeatedly under her breath. When questioned on what she was doing, she had repeated “Not my room!”

“What do you mean, sweetie?” Ian asked, taking a hold of her hands to stop her from trying to shove the wardrobe with her small frame.

“Not my room!” She snatched her hands from her father’s with an unknown strength and screamed, “Not my room! My room go there!” A small finger was pointing to the corner where her bed was, her hand shaking angrily.

It had been Mickey who had realised that Annabelle’s autistic tendencies meant that she was struggling with the different arrangement of her new bedroom from her old one. With it being one in the morning, neither of the men were prepared to rearrange her room, and so, after ten minutes of bargaining back and forth, Annabelle was being carried into their room by Mickey, clutching her mermaid doll to her chest. She slept between her dads that night, snoring lightly but peacefully.

Another difficult time had been her first day of school. She had started a couple of weeks later than the other children due to it being deemed more necessary for her to settle into her new home without adding school as another changing factor. Mickey had been able to change his shift timings to allow him to drive their daughter to the North Side so that she could stay in the same school. Three days a week he would work shorter days so that he could collect her after school, which worked well with Ian’s request with work to keep the other two days as ones where he worked the early shift so that he could finish in time to collect Annabelle being approved.

All bases and preparations for school they believed had been covered, until Mickey was unable to make it into work that day. Walking Annabelle to the door where her teacher would greet her and usher her into the cloakroom to hang up her belongings had not been an easy task when the young girl had been met by a teacher different from her first-grade one. The teacher had reached to take her hand and walk her in but had received a grunt from the red-haired child as she snatched her hand away. She pressed back into her dad, shaking her head and hitting her thigh with her small, balled-up fist.

“Not Miss Smith!” She cried, shaking her head as Mickey tried to calm her down.

“Come on, Annie, it’s okay. You’ll have so much fun with Missus Lewis,” he explained, bending down and trying to gently restrain the hand that was trying to hit out at her leg still.

Tears were soon streaming down her face as her hand was pulled away and now hitting at her forehead, angered shouts accompanying her actions. “No! No! No!”

The commotion of concerned and confused parents and the new teacher’s efforts to convince Annabelle that surrounded him didn’t exist as Mickey watched his daughter become so frustrated and agitated that she had managed to damage the frame of her glasses, the metal cutting her temple, and was trying to bite at her hand. “Annie, daddy’s here, and he’s not leavin’, but we need to calm down.” The words were shaky as he wrapped her restless body in his arms and held her against his chest stopping her from being able to hurt herself. His own eyes blurred with tears as he continued to restrain his daughter enough to limit her movements but not restrict them, continually shushing and comforting her as he rode out the episode with her, eventually feeling her body slump against his as tears continued to fog the lenses of the broken glasses. She whimpered in his chest, sniffling out broken syllables of “Not Miss Smith,” between sobs and hiccups.

By now, Missus Lewis had managed to welcome the last few children and gesture to the Gallagher man that she would be inside if he needed anything.

Wiping tears from Annabelle’s eyes, the pair sat on the floor of the playground together, waiting for the young girl to recover to a state that Mickey could speak to her normally. “You’re okay,” he comforted when his hold on her hands was no longer needed and became a hug instead.

Blue, watery eyes stared up at him as his daughter muttered, “Not Miss Smith, daddy. Not my teacher.”

“Annie, our teachers change every year, that’s how it works.” When she shook her head no, he simply nodded and reiterated, “It is. And I know it’s hard. But we have to go to school with Missus Lewis. What if we go in to meet her together?”

Her bottom lip quivered questionably, her brow furrowed. “You come?” She eventually asked.

“Yeah. Me and you.” It broke his heart to look at the red marks on her face that would form bruises, the small amount of blood that stained her porcelain skin, and the crescent-shaped indentations on her hand from biting. “Let’s get cleaned up.” He stood up and extended a hand for his daughter to take. Together the pair walked into the cloakroom, with Mickey waving a hand shyly into the classroom for the teacher to see.

After cleaning the snotty, tear-stained girl up in the bathroom, Mickey and Missus Lewis briefly spoke of a game plan whilst the teaching assistant covered the class. They had agreed that Annabelle could come to school a little earlier the next few mornings to allow the three of them to sit together before the other students arrived, hopefully allowing Annabelle to become better adjusted to the new teacher. Today, Annabelle could sit at the back of the class with Mickey for a story and then go home (it would give them time to get to the opticians for new glasses and let Annabelle relax and prepare for the next day).

Mickey had called Paul to explain the situation, with his boss being more than understanding of the situation; it was one of the days that Ian was on an early shift, so once he got home, Mickey would go to work for the remainder of his shift and stay late to make up some of his hours.

The pair had basically had to do an immediate swap that afternoon and hadn’t had time to properly debrief on the morning’s goings-on past the texts Ian had received. Getting back from work later than intended meant that Mickey had then basically rolled into the house, heated up the dinner that Ian had left in the microwave for him, and then showered. He had made sure to pop into his daughter’s room to press a kiss to her head and whisper goodnight before convincing his husband to turn in for an early night.

As the pair lay in bed, Mickey recalled the events to his husband in detail, needing him to understand how scary it had been to experience their daughter like that and not know what to do. He hadn’t been able to see in the darkness of her room, but Ian had told him to be prepared for the bruises that had begun to darken through the evening that would greet him the next morning.

“I wish I could’ve been there to help you,” Ian mumbled into the space between them, looking into Mickey’s eyes with love and adoration in his own. “I’m sorry you had to do it alone, but you did all the right things.”

“I know. I just… we should’ve thought about the teacher thing, ya’ know?”

Shaking his head, Ian admitted “We can’t anticipate everything. But we know for next time and we have a plan on how to handle it.” He leant in to press a gentle kiss to his partner’s nose, and then to his lips.

Mickey nodded, sniffing once, before leaning forward to capture Ian’s lip in a desperate kiss, needing the affection and comfort at that moment. It wasn’t a kiss for long, with Ian soon disappearing below the sheets to take care of him, massaging his hips throughout his ministrations. The entire time, Mickey bit his lip to be quiet, now aware that they were no longer alone in their home and couldn’t vocalise at their usual volume. Tiredly, Mickey had jerked his husband off to completion in his boxers, ignoring his protests of being fine and saying that the older man had had a long day. Afterwards, Ian quickly cleaned himself off (having already lapped up any mess that Mickey had made when he had been beneath the sheets) before encircling his husband in his arms and holding him tightly as they fell to sleep.

*** * ***

“Ow, fuck!” Mickey’s hissed outcry was soon shared by Ian as the pair were woken up by their daughter jumping up and down on their bed, the impact of her landing on their legs waking them before her cries of excitement could. It was strange really, because, for such a little girl, she had a voice that carried for miles. Luckily, she was making too much noise to have heard the curse words that both men had uttered.

Pushing himself up, Ian leant forward to wrap his arms around Annabelle’s waist and playfully wrestle her to the bed, tickling her sides and stomach until her screams about it being Christmas had turned in to laughter.

“Stop, daddy! Stop! I can’t bleathe!” The young girl managed to pant out, her arms and legs fighting to protect herself. When her father finally relented, Annabelle sat up with bright, excited eyes and asked, “Plesents now?”

“Get ready first,” Mickey corrected, lifting her into his lap and smoothing a hand through her hair, “then breakfast and do presents after.” When a pout began to form on Annabelle’s face, he laughed before booping her nose and saying “Your presents aren’t goin’ anywhere, princess.”

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, their daughter nodded once before jumping into action, racing to get herself dressed and ready as quickly as she could, hoping to get to her presents sooner. The toilet could be heard flushing, followed by toothpaste being spat out and mouthwash being gargled. Both men chuckled to themselves, meeting in the middle for a sweet kiss, seasonal greeting mumbled to one another before proceeding to get themselves ready.

After a breakfast of reminding Annabelle to chew her food, not just shovel it in, Ian and Mickey both sat on the floor beside the tree, their daughter between them looking at them with glistening eyes. The next hour was a back and forth of passing Annabelle a present, telling her who it was from, and watching her shred the paper open in excitement, marvelling over the gift before discarding of it and wanting to see the next. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful, but that it felt like a race to have every gift opened before she could process them. When the only presents that sat beneath the tree were ones which belonged to the two men, Ian stepped away to get the present of Annabelle’s that could not be left out overnight from the pantry, peeking in the final box which had a large, shiny bow on it and checking it was still intact. With that last box, he walked into the lounge to see his daughter combing through the vast amount of toys, dolls, candy, and other gifts she had received, already pestering Mickey to remove tags from a stuffed animal.

The box wiggled slightly as Ian began to lower it on the floor before his daughter, explaining “This is your last present from me and Daddy.”

“More?” She enquired, mouth agape.

“Yep. But this one’s a special one so ya’ gotta’ be gentle,” the older man encouraged, grinning as the young girl looked at the poorly-wrapped box with holes in it. “Go on, you can open it, just lift the lid off careful.”

Annabelle’s lips twisted into a curious shape as her eyes questioned the instruction. But she did as asked, taking care to lift the lid of the large box and find two small bundles of fur stood in one corner of it, munching away on the straw that filled the base.

The grin that spread across her face was exactly what both men had hoped for. “Do you know what they are?” Ian asked, sitting on the floor to reach in and pick up the brown bundle of fur, cradling the animal in his large hands.

“Dilly pigs?”

He really couldn’t get over how precious her pronunciation was. “Yep. Guinea pigs.”

Smiling at the older man as they gave their little girl a minute to flap her hands in excitement and mumble out small words of excitement and amazement, Ian felt warm inside. They had decided on guinea pigs when Annabelle had attended Hayley’s birthday party at a farm park and had been introduced to an all manner of small animals, particularly taking to the guinea pigs. He smoothed a finger over the animal’s back before bringing his hands closer to his daughter, allowing her to gently pet the chuntering ball of fluff.

“What’re ya’ gonna’ name ‘em?” Mickey asked, reaching inside the box to stroke the black and white guinea pig. “They’re both girls.”

“Lucy and Illy.” Their daughter declared, not taking her eyes away from her pet which her father held.

“Lucy and Lilly. Good choice, baby.” Ian smiled as he watched the awe and fascination on her small face. He had to laugh to himself a little because Lucy was just her favourite name, from her mermaid doll to her babies, every female toy would be Lucy at some point.

Mickey worked on constructing the metal cage which had come flat-packed, filling it with the bedding, house, and toys that were still in the pantry as Ian showed Annabelle how to hold the guinea pigs and groom them with the soft-bristled brush, loving the little noises of glee that would occasionally burst from her lips. Once the animals were settled in their cage, Annabelle flitted between focusing on her new pets and organising and playing with her new dolls, allowing Ian and Mickey to open their own gifts before finally exchanging the ones they had bought for each other.

Ian watched his husband unwrap the limited edition Seiko watch that he had been eyeing for months. He had repeatedly had to dissuade the older man from buying it for himself, claiming that they couldn’t afford it. Grinning to himself, he revelled in the knowing look that he received when Mickey recalled the times Ian had said no.

“Sneaky bastard,” Mickey whispered quietly so that young ears didn’t take in the curse word. “Open mine!”

Opening the bag that Mickey had taped shut, Ian peeled some tissue paper away to reveal a mixture of items. He began to pull them out one at a time, in turn, finding a set of Powerbeats for his workouts, a keyring which had a picture of the three of them engraved on it (this made his heart melt a little), a couple of gimmicky items from inside jokes, and an item which had his eyes wide and the box that held it being shoved right back into the bag. His cheeks flushed as he looked at his husband with shock behind his eyes, being met with a suggestive expression. Brows high, eyes hooded, and biting his lower lip, Mickey didn’t need to say anything as he got up to walk out of the lounge.

Feeling a warmth spread through his stomach, Ian quickly stood, clutching the bag tightly, and regarded Annabelle softly. “Sweetie, me and Daddy have just gotta’ pack some things away before we go to Aunt Fiona’s for dinner. You, be good in here, okay?” Distracted by the Christmas movie on the television, Annabelle simply let out a small grunt and continued to brush the hair of the doll in her lap. That was enough for Ian to hastily walk towards the bathroom (the farthest room from the lounge) after his husband and deposit the bag on the lid of the toilet, pushing Mickey back against the basin as he crashed their lips together hungrily.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mickey breathed into his mouth when Ian pulled back less than an inch to look at his husband with lust-filled eyes and squeeze his hip firmly, letting him know that this would be hard and fast. The blue eyes communicated his need and want. Since they had brought Annabelle home, they had not fucked once, only jerked the other off or done oral on brief occasions. And clearly, that was the reason for Mickey’s gift, he realised as he was pushing the older man’s pants down, kissing down his fresh-shaven jaw towards his neck. A small moan pressed through the older man’s lips shakily.

No, that couldn’t happen with their daughter just down the hall. Ian quickly shoved two fingers into the noisy man’s mouth, silencing him as his other hand crept beneath the quirky Rudolph boxers (Annabelle’s idea) and began to stroke Mickey’s hardening length, his movements slow but insistent. When Ian was satisfied that his fingers were wet enough, he removed them from the warmth of Mickey’s mouth, replacing them with his lips, and moved to shove the hideous boxers down so that he could stroke between the pale cheeks testingly, feeling his husband gasp into his mouth. “Shush,” he hissed, quickly recapturing the lips in a hot, wet kiss, trying to silence the noise that Mickey let out when he pushed one finger into his warmth, stroking and hooking it as his right hand pulled at the neatly-styled hair. Normally, he would have received a scolding for ruining his husband’s hair before an outing, but they needed this as much as the other did right now.

Opening Mickey without indulging in the urge to tease and play was a difficult task, but he managed it when previously-tattooed hands clawed down his back hard, drawing him away from the precipice of extended foreplay. The warm sting of nails piercing skin had the taller man’s eyes wide and lustful, and he quickly removed his fingers to roughly turn the shorter one around, leaning him over the sink, a hand in his hair keeping him angled low as the other lined his aching cock up with the wanton hole. He teased for only a second, rubbing his leaking head against Mickey’s warmth before he wrapped a hand blindly over his mouth, receiving a hard bite in response to the swift, sharp thrust that had him engulfed by his husband. The sensation had him biting his lip to the point of tasting blood and feeling a stinging pain that was almost as euphoric as bottoming out.

Leaning his chest against Mickey’s back, his head close to the older man’s ear, Ian exhaled lowly, commenting “I missed this,” as he rolled his hips once.

The dark head turned to look at him, bee-stung lips mumbling “Me too, man. But… Annie – gotta’ be fast.”

Stretching a little, Ian nipped at his husband’s lower lip before popping a chaste kiss on his lips and moving to grip the shorter man’s hips tightly, his thumbs soothing small circles into the soft skin as he proceeded to thrust at a blistering speed. The hasty movements were spurred on by the whimpers and moans that the other man was struggling to stifle in one hand as he worked his own cock in the other.

“Oh, fuck,” Ian gasped, feeling a coiling in his stomach as he realised that he was not far from coming. “Sprint finish,” he half-laughed through a grunt as he pounded into Mickey so hard that the pedestal sink making a slight knocking noise against the wall accompanied their mutual climax.

“Long-distance is over-rated,” Mickey sighed as he slumped against the basin. “Besides, how many parents do you know that run long-distance?”

Chuckling and playfully clearing his throat, thinking of his own exercise hobbies, Ian cleaned himself up, splashing water on his face and fixing a few stray hairs before he pressed a soft kiss to his husband’s temple and mumbled “We can long-distance together next time,” before exiting the bathroom to return to their contented daughter.

When Mickey finally emerged from the bathroom after straightening himself out, his change in walk noticeable to his husband, he breezed behind the couch where Ian and Annabelle sat curled up watching the end of the original _The Santa Clause_ movie, squeezing the ginger man’s shoulder and saying “Smoke,” as he passed.

“Me and Daddy are just going out for a cigarette,” Ian explained as he unwound himself from his daughter and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The little girl was so transfixed by the television that she barely managed an acknowledgement.

Sitting down on the top step of the porch, Ian squeezed Mickey’s jean-clad thigh affectionately before asking “Did you ever imagine it?” He accepted the cigarette that Mickey held out for him, taking a long drag.

The older man lit one for himself and perched it between his lips as he mumbled out through it “What?”

“Life.”

“How so?”

“Like, it’s literally everything I wished for. And it’s because of you, you know.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I feel on top of the world, Mick, and I don’t think I’ll ever come down.”

Chuckling, smoke puffing out with each rumble of his chest, Mickey joked, “That’s the post-sex endorphins. Wait ‘til we get to Fiona’s and you’ll re-evaluate life again.”

“No. I’m serious, Mickey, I couldn’t ask for anything else in the world.”

The older man leant his head on to his husband’s shoulder, letting out a breath of smoke. “I feel that, man.”

**\- FUCKING FIN -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: so idk how to phrase it but basically there's some low-key insensitive discussion of 'normal ones' in relation to neurotypical children in contrast to a child with Down's Syndrome
> 
> A/N: Annabelle's behaviours, ways of speaking/pronunciation, mannerisms etc. are based on those of my step-sister, who also has Down's Syndrome, and are not representative of all individuals with Down's. 
> 
> Honestly, I cannot say how much I appreciate all of the support everyone has shown for this series. After 216,796 words, this series is done and I cannot say thank you enough. But thank you anyway!

**Author's Note:**

> TW: referenced self-harm, referenced homophobia, referenced depressive episode, referenced mania, anxiety, self-harm (cutting), blood, institutionalisation, referenced stillbirth, bondage


End file.
